Moonlight
by Brambleshadow of WindClan
Summary: Def Leppard fanfic. AU series. Slash. NEW STORY: Sav can't sleep. Joe decides to help.
1. Moonlight: Chapter 1

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences  
Category: M/M  
Fandom: Def Leppard, Bon Jovi (_In the Still of the Night_) Mostly DL, though, even if there are cameos from other bands.  
Relationship: Joe Elliott/Rick Savage, Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora (_In the Still of the Night_)  
Characters: Joe Elliott, Rick Savage, Steve Clark, Phil Collen, Rick Allen, Jon Bon Jovi (_In the Still of the Night_), Richie Sambora (_In the Still of the Night_)  
Additional Tags: Lycanthropy  
Published: 2012-09-11

Notes: Inspired by "Burn" by ObsidianJade on ArchiveofOurOwn in the Bon Jovi fandom, "The Act of Submission" by AddictedtoPuzzles here in the Teen Wolf fandom, The Wereling trilogy by Stephen Cole, and me watching way too many Def Lepp videos. :) For some reason, Joe's hair in the "Women" video always reminds me of a wolf pelt. I guess that's where this whole idea came from. *shrugs* Who cares?

DISCLAIMER: Joe Elliott, Rick Savage, et. al., are real people and property of themselves. No harm is intended or implied and no profit is made. I just have a wild imagination and am currently suffering from an intense werewolf and Def Leppard fetish.

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**One:**

**Moonlight**

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**Summary:**

The silver moonlight tracked him even backstage, trapping him in its glow, and Joe knew he had to either give in or let the burning inside consume him.

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**Chapter One**

Pale moonlight streamed through the windows of yet another hotel on another city on the band's latest tour. Outside, the moon gleamed full and bright, barely cresting the craggy outline of the Sangre de Christo Mountain Range. Everybody in the city of Colorado Springs—and the members of British hard rock band Def Leppard—were asleep, save for one.

Joe's pale-green eyes snapped open; for a second they glowed in the darkness before returning to their normal shade. He was so, so hot . . . all thanks to the full moon and the bite he'd been given years ago. His eyes quickly scanned the room, flicking over the sleeping forms of Rick, Sav, Phil, and Steve, before fire shot through him. He bit his lip hard to keep from groaning, drew blood, and instantly rolled out of bed. Joe landed on all fours, hard, and the pain helped urge on what he'd been trying to fight.

His bones burned white-hot as they cracked and reformed. Muscles turned to mush, then returned in harder, more powerful designs. Coarse hair—fur—wormed its way through the pores in his skin; nails darkened and lengthened to form claws even as his hands became paws. Inside his mouth, his teeth grew longer, sharper, blood emerging from gums as his jaws became part of a powerful muzzle. Transformation complete, he glanced again around the room with phosphorescent blue eyes—eyes that were still human whichever form he was forced to take. Suddenly nothing in the room mattered to him anymore, not even his bandmates, his adopted pack. All he owned was the night world and everything in it. Maybe that was the wolf talking, but right then it was true.

Unfortunately, they were in the hotel penthouse and all the windows were shut. Since he was in lupine form at the moment, Joe had no way of opening the window. A soft, frustrated growl escaped him as he paced the length of the wall, his movements short and tense. If anyone had been watching, he looked like he might explode at any moment.

One of his bandmates, maybe Steve or Phil, rolled over in sleep, grumbling, and Joe froze. When one of the Terror Twins suddenly sat straight up, the golden wolf dove for cover and curled up in a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible. It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. After a few tense moments, Steve went back to sleep.

Joe sighed and draped his tail over his nose. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight. Then again, he never did when it was the night of the full moon. None of his kind did.

.

Sav glanced up from raiding the fridge the next morning to see a sleepy-looking Joe pad into the kitchen. The bass guitarist greeted, "Hey there, mate. Didn't sleep well, huh?"

"No. Full moon," was all the band's singer said in response. Sav just nodded and returned to hunting for breakfast. Out of everyone else in Def Leppard, he was the only one who knew about Joe's lycanthropy, even if he'd found out about it completely by accident. One night he'd been unable to sleep, had gone in search of water, and somehow found himself opening the door to Joe's room and finding him in mid-transformation—a sight he'd been sure would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. This was back when Pete Willis had been one of their guitarists while they were making _Pyromania _in '82. It was now 1987.

"Where're Rick and the Terror Twins?" Joe asked, jerking Sav out of his recollections. The lupine had come closer and was now leaning against the counter, his blue gaze raking over the contents of the small refrigerator.

"I think Rick's still asleep, and I have no idea where Steve or Phil are at the moment." Finding nothing of interest, he closed the fridge. "How rough was it?"

There was silence for a long moment. Finally Joe replied, "Well, the window was shut so I couldn't get out, but considering we're so high up anyway . . ." He shrugged, and a smile twitched at his mouth as he added, "I had to dive for cover when Steve shot straight up. Somehow I ended up behind the couch."

At the mental image of a large blond werewolf ducking behind a leather sofa, Sav had to fight hard not to laugh. He couldn't help chuckling a little and Joe, with his sensitive lupine hearing, heard it and scowled. "At least _you _think it's funny."

"So do you, mate. That's 'cause it _is _funny." Sav shot his bandmate a grin. The grin faded as a more serious thought occurred to him. "So, how is it, really?"

Joe sighed, and his eyes flared bright blue for a moment. "Sav . . .," he said, a warning note in his voice. "You've known about this for five years. And I'm not giving you the bite, so forget that idea."

"Wouldn't think of it," the bass guitarist said smoothly. Then, in a quieter voice: "Pete found out, too. Remember?"

The muscles tightened in Joe's jaw, and Sav noticed that the lead singer's nails had darkened and lengthened and were now digging into the countertop. That gave Sav his answer.

Back then was the first time he'd seen the some of the extent of Joe's wolf powers, without him shifting into his werewolf form. Pete, his courage bolstered by alcohol, had threatened to tell the truth about what Joe really was to the rest of Def Leppard, the media, everyone. Joe's eyes went phosphorescent, canines turned into fangs, and he'd grabbed the rhythm guitarist by his shirt collar and slammed him up against the nearest wall, his claws tearing through the fabric in Pete's shirt, a low growl rumbling from his throat. Sav hadn't been able to hear what words were exchanged, but when the lycanthrope stepped back, Pete's face was blank and eyes wide with terror. He'd left the next day, and since there were no werewolf stories in the tabloids, both Joe and Sav assumed the secret was safe.

When he'd asked Joe about it later, about why Pete's reaction was the way it was, Joe had simply replied, "I'm the alpha. It's my responsibility to look out for the pack."

"Pack?"

"Us. The band."

"Oh." That was the first he'd heard of any werewolf pack mentality, but it also made sense as to why they wouldn't let Rick leave the band when he'd lost his arm in the car wreck a few years ago. Sav wouldn't say Allen was the band's pet, but he was their friend—and packmate, in Joe's mind—and none of them turned their backs on friends.

Gradually the tension in Joe's face and body drained away and he relaxed. Sav, meanwhile, had finally found a box of cereal and was starting to open it. The crinkling of the plastic bag inside the cardboard box alerted Joe to the fact there was food afoot and he swung his head in Sav's direction, stomach growling. Even without super-sharp senses, the bass guitarist could hear it. He ignored Joe's piercing green glare as he dug out a handful and popped it in his mouth.

"Sav . . ." Joe's voice was a low growl. "Hand over the box."

He pretended to think it over, then smirked. "No."

This time it was a wordless snarl, and Sav had to dart out of range. "Wow, you're not a morning person, are you?" he teased.

"I'm always cranky the morning after a full moon; you know that." Joe snatched for the box again, only to be treated to the sight of Sav's retreating figure, his mane of curly brown hair flying every which way. He growled softly with irritation before giving chase. It took a couple minutes, but after a flying leap over one of the couches, he had Sav pinned underneath him and they were wrestling for control of the cereal.

Steve suddenly came walking in, his blond hair wet, freshly clothed, and pulled up short when he saw Sav writhing on the floor underneath Joe. He cleared his throat and said, "Hey, guys take it somewhere else, huh?"

Both men froze and glanced up, Joe's eyes glowing sky-blue again and fangs bared before he realized it. Suddenly realizing the awkwardness of the situation and what it must look like to Steve, he abruptly scrambled off Sav and helped him up. To one half of the Terror Twins he said, "It's not what it looks like." Then he glared at Sav. "Are you going to give me the cereal now?"

A smile twitched at Steve's mouth before he gave a short laugh. Joe had to hand it to the guy: he had a great sense of humor.

Sav grumbled good-naturedly and handed over the box, but not before Joe saw the broad smirk. He gave a warning growl, not caring about letting some of the wolf come through, and started heading for the kitchenette to look for a bowl.

"Well, that was . . . interesting," he heard Steve comment to Sav. "All that over a bloody cereal box?"

Joe sensed rather than saw Sav shrug. He didn't care; his mouth had flooded with saliva at the word "bloody". Since the moon remained full for two more days, it was easier for his wolf to take control, even though the moon was a constant influence on lupines all the time—and he could bring on the change whenever he wanted. At last he clamped down on his werewolf instincts in time to hear Sav's reply of, "Yeah, well, he's always irritable the morning after a full moon. And I'm pretty sure I started it."

"You did," Joe called from the kitchenette. He'd finally found a paper bowl and spoon and was now going for the milk jug. "And stop smiling." When he came back out and set breakfast down on the table, he noticed how abruptly their faces had become neutral. Only slightly amused, he asked Steve, "Where are the others?"

"Getting dressed, I think," Clark replied. "The noise the two of you were making sure woke them up. What time is it, anyway?"

Joe glanced at his wristwatch. "Six-thirty."

"We're not performing until what, six? Seven?"

"Seven," said Phil as he entered the room. Rick was right behind him. "In the evening."

Joe opened his mouth like he was about to swear loudly and snapped it shut when the others stared at him. Sav would know what was troubling him, of course, but Rick, Phil, and Steve were in the dark about his lycanthropic condition. Ah, well. He'd made it through evening concerts on full moon nights before. He could handle tonight if he just tightened control on his lupine instincts.

.

The sun had just set and the full moon was making itself visible in the night sky. Joe glanced at it nervously before sweeping his gaze over the crowd of fans, most of them teenage girls. After they'd released _Hysteria _and, subsequently, "Pour Some Sugar on Me" as a single, it seemed like more of their audience had become that of the young female variety. They'd been playing for maybe an hour already, after Bon Jovi opened for them (and yes, they kicked Jon's tail), and Def Leppard's resident werewolf—as well as Sav and the Terror Twins—were hot, sticky, and sweaty, mostly from running around the stage. In Joe's case, some of it might be from paranormal causes, but right now he was refusing to think about that.

During the hour-long rehearsal and setting-up phase, they had gone over the set list ("Stagefright", "Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)", "Love Bites", "Another Hit 'N' Run", "Women", "Rocket", "Foolin'", "Too Late For Love", etc. etc.), and behind him, Joe heard Steve, Rick, Phil and Sav launch into "Animal". This time, the lyrics had a ring of truth: The animal inside Joe was itching for release. He couldn't give in to the wolf, not while he was onstage. Aside from the fact the media would have a field day, he had no idea how Phil, Rick, and Steve would react. Sav was totally cool with it, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

As he sang, "Huh! Oh! Cry wolf baby, cry tough, gonna hunt you like an, uh uh, animal" with the others on backing vocals, Joe could feel the wolf shadow pricking at the back of his mind. He knew he was losing control when he looked in Sav's direction and the bass player hissed softly, "Your eyes" and he felt his canines growing sharp in his mouth, but he was suddenly finding it hard to push back the wolf. And no matter where he went onstage, the moonlight seemed to follow him.

Somehow he made it through the last two songs in their set, "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and "Bringin' on the Heartbreak", and the usual parting words. Then he was _off _that stage, aware all the while of the moon's glow. It seemed to mock him as he jogged backstage, hearing the distant footfalls of his bandmates—packmates—as they followed from a few yards away. The silver moonlight tracked him even backstage, trapping him in its glow, and Joe knew he had to either give in or let the burning inside consume him. His breathing had become harsh, labored, and again he felt the shadow of his wolf in his mind, pushing, trying to take over.

A hand came down on his shoulder as a voice asked, "Joe, you okay, mate?"

Startled, he growled and whipped around, fangs bared, eyes flashing bright blue. Sav jumped backward to avoid having his hand turned into a hamburger patty. The bassist answered his own question, "Guess not." Concern swiftly etched itself onto his face. "You're close to changing, aren't you?"

Unable to speak, Joe nodded. As if from far away he could hear Steve, Phil, and Rick's footsteps as they walked closer. At the thought of fresh meat, saliva flooded his mouth and in the back of his throat he could taste the metallic tang of blood. He bared fangs in a sick parody of a smile and lunged, trying to dart around Sav, only to be held back as his friend's strong arms grabbed and held him in place, drawing him close. Normally Joe would have pulled away because he wasn't that way and neither was Sav—or so he hoped—but the animal inside was too strong. All he could feel at the moment was the heat of his bassist's body; smell Sav's unique scent . . . and then it was delicious pain coursing through him as his wolf leapt out from the shadows to dominate.

.

Sav instinctively tightened his hold on Joe as the change engulfed his friend. To be honest, this was the first time he'd actually seen Joe transform fully into the lupine state and, although it was horrifying, he couldn't tear his gaze away. That is, until the rest of Def Leppard turned the corner and he heard Rick's puzzled voice: "Sav, what are you doing?"

Joe, fully wolf now, growled from behind Sav's leg and drew his lips back to expose yellowed fangs. Before Sav could grab him again the werewolf had darted out from behind him, narrowed bright blue eyes at Rick, and lunged.

"Joe, NO!" the bassist yelled, diving for the huge wolf. Was he crazy? Yeah, probably, but he also knew Joe would never forgive himself if he hurt Rick or any other members of the band. Sav hit Joe broadside and the wolf yelped in surprise as he was tackled to the floor. Blue eyes glared accusingly at Sav, who tightened his hold in the thick golden pelt. The bassist hissed, "Come on, Elliott, get a grip. I know you're in there, mate. You're the alpha of this little pack, remember?" The words sounded strange coming off his tongue, but if they would help Joe, he didn't care if he sounded like a nut. "Change back. Now."

Gradually the accusing look in those bright blue eyes faded and the big lupine stopped struggling. Sav released him and stepped back, and the werewolf padded out of sight.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Steve demanded.

Sav glanced over at his bandmates, who had frozen in place, faces pale. He'd almost forgotten they were there. "Uh, well, I'm probably not the best person to be telling you."

"But you _know _what's going on, don't you?" Steve accused, eyes flashing. He calmed down a little when Phil lightly touched his arm, but not by much.

There was movement out the corner of Sav's eye, and, turning, he saw it was Joe, human again. The band's lead vocalist looked shaken, sick, and Sav's heartstrings tugged. He wanted to comfort his friend, but didn't want to do so with other eyes around.

Joe could feel Sav's concerned gaze on him, and he, too, wanted the comfort his bass guitar player provided. Just not right now, not with three pairs of eyes watching him warily. His wolf was calmer now, but Joe could still feel the moonlight prickling his skin. He hated being so different from his friends when nights were like this, when his wolf side was stronger than his human side. It took him a while to meet the wary, cautious gazes of Rick and the Terror Twins, but when he did, all that came out was a hoarse, "I'll talk to you later."

They left, albeit reluctantly, and then it was just him and Sav standing there together in the moonlight. Joe's gaze rested on Sav, who stepped forward, arms open, and said, "Come here, mate."

Phosphorescent-blue eyes smiled as a hint of the wolf came through, along with very human desire.


	2. Moonlight: Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

When he finally untangled himself from Sav's embrace, Joe closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, hoping the smells of the night and his bassist's familiar scent would help calm down his wolf. He could still feel the moonlight on his skin, and the itch, while it had faded, was still maddening. There were times he loved being a werewolf, but full moon nights were definitely _not _one of them.

"You calm enough now?" Sav asked.

"I think so. C'mon, let's find the others."

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Sav warned as he fell into step with Joe.

The alpha werewolf chuckled dryly. "Or at least three words: I'm a werewolf."

"Oh, yeah, that'll go over real well," the bassist said sarcastically.

"Hey, you're totally cool with it." As they walked along, Joe saw Sav smile a little, and he found he kept leaning into his friend, almost as if he needed the contact . . . needed _Sav. _Startled by the thought, Joe slowed his pace and let the bassist take the lead to the dressing rooms. Soon after, he realized that was a mistake, since it gave him a full view of Sav's leggy figure, the way those lean muscles knotted and rolled to create that loose-hipped stride. Again, Joe could feel his wolf rising, and his tongue swept across his chops before he could stop himself. Why was he thinking about Sav like this? Yes, the bassist helped calm down his wolf, so there was the possibility Sav was his anchor—something that kept him human when the moon was full and he was in his wolf form—but did he actually have _feelings _for Rick Savage? No, definitely not . . . but he couldn't deny that some part of him had _enjoyed _the feel of Sav's body nestling against his own.

_Stupid wolf, _Joe thought irritably. _Can't it decide what it wants?_ Unless it had already decided . . . but the lead vocalist refused to let his thoughts travel down that road.

He suddenly plowed into a mass of leather and hair as Sav stopped abruptly. The scent of Sav's hairspray filled his nose, and Joe took a step back, gagging. He knew the man liked spray, but did he seriously have to use that much?

"You first," Sav said, stepping aside to reveal that they were at the dressing room.

Joe shook his head. "No way."

"It's _your _problem," Sav pointed out. "Besides, you're the alpha, remember?"

Joe grumbled, "Why do I even put up with you?"

Sav grinned. "Easy. You all love me. Maybe it's my charming personality."

"It's your charming something," Joe muttered. Suddenly irritated with his best friend, he took a step forward—and found himself inside the dressing room looking at the apprehensive faces of the Terror Twins and the Thunder God.

_Bloody hell_ was the first thought that came to mind, and he turned back to face Sav, who was leaning against the door with that very familiar smirk dancing on his lips. Joe's eyes flared turquoise and he curled his upper lip in a snarl, showing off sharp fangs. His bass guitar player gulped and fidgeted, but didn't move. Joe had to give him credit for that, at least. That didn't stop him from snarling irritably: "You planned that, didn't you?"

"Yep," Sav replied, moving away from the dressing room door so he was closer to the werewolf.

"So," Phil said at last, tearing Joe's attention away from the bass player, "_what _exactly was all that about earlier?" The blonde's eyes were moving from Sav to Joe. "I've never seen a wolf backstage before."

"And since when are you a wolf whisperer?" Steve asked Sav. The bushy-haired brunette bass player just looked down at his feet, suddenly very interested in his shoes.

"Since I turn on nights of the full moon," Joe answered for Sav, holding Steve's gaze steadily.

Rick actually took a step back. "Wait, what?"

"Well, I'm not exactly human," Joe admitted.

"Then what are you?" Phil asked, eyes narrowed.

"Why don't you see if you can figure it out?" Sav grumbled, lifting his head to glare at his bandmates. He moved even closer to Joe, and the werewolf leaned back against his friend's chest. Sav's familiar scent of hairspray, warm leather, and autumn bonfires filled his nose and it took all his control not to turn and sink his fangs into the skin on that delicious-looking throat. Joe thought, _What's wrong with me? I've never thought about Sav like this before—unless it's just the wolf. Yes, that must be it. _But just thinking about the bass guitarist anchored his human self when the full moon's influence was too much and his wolf threatened to take full control. _I really don't have time to figure this out right now_. And suddenly Joe didn't want the others to know his secret. Everything had been perfectly fine with just Sav knowing about his lycanthropy, and he'd kicked Pete out because the rhythm guitarist had threatened to tell in the first place.

So, with his eyes trained on Phil the way they were, there was no way he could miss the lightbulb-going-off moment. Collen paled a little and ducked behind Steve, who looked at him with a puzzled expression, like, _WTF_. Phil just met his fellow Terror Twin's gaze and said, "I think Joe _was _the wolf."

Rick let out a strained laugh. "You're joking, right? There's no way anyone can turn into a wolf. Have you guys been taking something?"

"No," Phil and Joe said in unison.

Steve was slowly nodding, though. "It makes sense, the way you've been acting lately. And from what you said earlier . . ." He turned his attention from Joe to Sav. "How long have you known?"

Joe, as close as they were physically right now, felt Sav stiffen before the bassist said quietly, "Five years. I found out by accident."

"And you never said anything?"

Sav opened his mouth, but Joe's warning growl rumbled through the room. "Leave him out of this. If he hadn't stopped me, the three of you might not be here. I was ready to _tear your throats out _and_ howl in victory _at your_ slaughter. _Besides, would you have believed either of us?"

Steve averted his gaze, and Joe noticed that neither Phil or Rick were meeting his eyes now. Clark muttered, "I guess not. Sorry, mate."

A corner of Joe's mouth hitched up in a weak attempt at a smile. "Yeah, well, blame the wolf that bit me. Now, are you all ready to leave? I want to get out of here already."

His bandmates murmured agreement. Roughly thirty to forty-five minutes later, they were on the bus driving through the crowded streets of Colorado Springs. One of the guys, Joe couldn't remember who, had suggested that they all go clubbing after dropping everything off at the hotel and they showered (there were no showers backstage). Naturally, the others agreed—all except the singer. He was aware of the full moon creeping higher and higher in the night sky. Once it reached its zenith . . . he'd transform again. His earlier metamorphosis had partly been of his own will and partly because he just let the wolf go. If the moon-madness took over and forced a shift while they were out in the clubs, he wasn't sure if even Sav's calming influence would work. Drugs didn't help either: they spun his already-heightened senses out of control; besides, the wild animal that lurked beneath his skin loathed anything that did not leave it with utter confidence in itself and its abilities—challenged its authority. As for his position as leader, it was only natural considering he was among _weak prey _humans and that they looked to him because he was their dominant, their superior, _in every way_. Maybe that was the wolf talking, but that was okay, because Joe _liked _the feeling.

The next thing he knew, Sav was shaking his shoulder, not unroughly. It jarred Joe out of his thoughts, and he looked at Sav quizzically. Sav just said, "We're at the hotel, Joe."

"'Kay," he mumbled.

Sav shifted his weight like he was going to leave, then stopped and looked at Joe more closely. "Hey, are you okay? You look all pale and sweaty."

"I'm fine," Joe replied, rising from his seat on the bus.

Sav frowned. "You're sure? You don't have to come with us, you know."

"I _am _coming," Joe growled. And that settled the matter.

.

An hour later, the guys were out on the streets in fresh clothes: torn-up jeans, nicer T-shirts than what they'd worn during the concert, and leather jackets, of course. It was warm for late October, but even so, there was a slight chill in the air.

Joe's ears pricked up as he heard a thumping bass beat coming from a nearby building. He asked, "You guys hear that?"

"Yeah," Sav replied, exchanging an excited look with Rick. Phil and Steve just gave each other mischievous winks. It was so obviously an inside gesture that Joe instantly found himself dreading what those two might end up getting into. Their infamous nickname of the "Terror Twins" sure suited them whether they were onstage or not. As they approached the club, Joe warned, "Be careful, you two. If I hear anything about you being arrested—"

"Relax, Joe," Phil assured him. "We're not going to do anything _too _crazy. Right, Steve?"

"Right," Steve affirmed, dipping his head toward the singer. His fingers, Joe noticed absently, were tapping out a rhythm on his jean-clad thigh, maybe the intro to "Women" or "Armageddon It." No, definitely "Women." The lycanthrope rolled his eyes and joined the crowd of teenagers and young adults waiting to enter the club. His mates followed, and of course, several of the girls were staring and whispering to their companions. With his heightened hearing, it was easy to hear what they were saying—some of it definitely X-rated. Joe snuck a quick glance at his watch and saw it was eleven o'clock. Just one more hour and . . . His stomach clenched painfully at the thought.

Then he realized the bouncer was looking at him expectantly. Joe forced a smile and said, "I don't suppose you'd let us in, would you?"

The well-muscled, black-clad man rolled his eyes and waved them on in. Quite a few teenage girls tried to follow but the bouncer moved in front of the door, cutting them off from the band. Joe could hear several voices raised in complaining tones, and he smiled a little. The smile quickly turned into a scowl when he realized the DJ was playing "Pour Some Sugar on Me" over the speakers at an ear-shattering volume. Well, maybe not to the humans, but what with the full moon's influence . . . He shook off the thought and muttered, "You've got to be kidding me."

"Huh?" Phil asked.

"They're playing 'Sugar'," Joe informed him.

"Oh." Phil shrugged and tugged at Steve's jacket. "C'mon, Steve, let's go!"

Joe was pretty sure he caught sight of a grin on Steve's face before the Terror Twins were lost in the crowd. Rick ambled off as well; then it was just Joe and Sav—again.

Sav looked over at Joe, a smile dancing on his lips. He said, "Well, what did you expect when we recorded this song?"

Joe just shrugged. He didn't have an answer, and he suspected Sav wasn't looking for one. Hoping to distract himself from the rising fever, Joe said, "I hope Steve and Phil aren't in too much trouble."

"Relax, would you? They'll be fine," Sav assured him. "Now, come on. We look miserable just standing here." The bassist began to make his way through the sea of dancing bodies, and Joe, not wanting Sav to leave his sight, followed. He _needed _the calming effect of the anchor. As much as he hated to admit it, the bass player _was _his anchor . . . and maybe something more than a friend. Besides, the area on his side where he'd been bitten long ago, even though it had healed, itched like someone had sewn a live moth underneath his skin. His whole body felt like that, actually.

Sav tensed as he felt Joe's presence behind him: the singer was way closer than he should be. Then he relaxed when the wolf dropped his hand from his shoulder. "Sorry," Joe said, leaning in close, his warm breath caressing the skin on Sav's neck. "The moon, my wolf . . ."

"Just try to relax and loosen up a bit," Sav suggested, turning around so he was facing Joe. "We're at a club, after all."

Joe's voice dropped to a low, edgy growl, and Sav saw budding canines. "I can't."

"Relax or have fun?"

"Both."

"Phil and Steve don't have any problems."

"They're Phil and Steve. What do you expect? Besides, they're not werewolves."

"True. Y'know, I think those girls over there are eyeing you."

Joe followed Sav's index finger with his eyes. His gaze landed on two pretty brunettes wearing clothes that exposed their midriffs and maybe a little too much thigh—leaving something to the imagination, he supposed. The lupine said in Sav's ear: "I hope they don't recognize us."

Sav just rolled his eyes and headed over, dragging Joe behind him. (The singer was too taken by surprise to protest.) Def Leppard's bass player said smoothly, "Mind if we dance?"

"Pour Some Sugar on Me" changed to Foreigner's "Hot Blooded" as one of the brunettes flashed a flirtatious smile at Sav and took the extended hand. The two were soon in what looked to Joe like a dance-off a few feet away from Joe and the other girl.

After a few songs had gone by, Joe's dancing partner asked, "Do I know you? You and your friend look familiar."

"We're in a band; just finished a gig." Joe tried to sound nonchalant, but the itch under his skin was intensifying and he was growing restless. His wolf's predator instincts were emerging as well.

_Where's Sav? _The werewolf cast his eyes around him, searching for the bass player. He also breathed in discreetly, tasting the air for Sav's scent. Once he located his bandmate, he moved away from the girl—who didn't seem to notice that he was on the move—and headed toward Sav. When he was right behind his friend, he tapped the bassist on the shoulder with a fingernail that was already longer than normal. Sav glanced over his shoulder, saw it was just Joe, and excused himself. The brunette looked disappointed, but her expression soon faded as another good-looking guy came up from behind, his hands already exploring. Both Sav and Joe curled their upper lip in disgust before turning away.

They managed to make it into a dark corner, one of Sav's hands resting on Joe's back between his shoulder blades. Fingers calloused from years of guitar playing were surprisingly gentle as they grazed the back of Joe's neck underneath his long, thick blonde hair. The singer's head was bent forward, mouth open, breathing labored, and Sav could see the glint of dagger-sharp fangs when Joe looked at him over his shoulder. Sav hissed, "Hold it together until we're outside, Joe. If you shift in here . . ."

"I know." Joe's voice was little more than a feral growl ripping from deep in his throat. He started making his way to the back doors of the club, Sav right beside him. As they hurried along, Joe felt as if his bones were filled with lava instead of marrow. His green eyes had turned a searing turquoise blue, glowing like beacons in the darkness. Claws were already spouting from his fingertips; his ears reshaped, growing pointed, slowly traveling up the sides of his head.

"Joe, no!" he heard Sav hiss. The bassist's fingers dug into his shoulder. "We're almost there. Just a few more feet, mate. Oh, where are the others?"

"Does it matter? Besides, I think they're scared of me."

By now, they had made it through the back door and were standing in an alley—one that was bathed in moonlight. The full moon was directly overhead, and with a quick glance at his wristwatch, Joe saw it was almost midnight. Had they been inside for an hour already? It sure didn't feel like it.

He doubled over, groaning, as molten fire poured through his whole body. Sav crouched beside him, his hands uncertain as they moved over Joe's back, as if he wasn't sure where to rest them. He asked, "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing," Joe rasped. "Sav, if I bite you when I'm a wolf . . ."

"I don't want it." Did all werewolves think they were hot stuff?

"If the bite doesn't turn you, it'll kill you," Joe warned, wincing as the transformation slowly progressed. "Sav, clothes. Off. Now." Joe was already shucking off his jacket, but his misshapen hands fumbled with his shirt. His hands and feet were morphing into paws, making it impossible to remove any other layers of clothing. And there was no way he could stop the transformation even if he wanted to do so. The moon called all the shots this time.

He could sense Sav's hesitation; then cool hands were pulling his shirt up over his head. The cool touch was a welcome relief for his burning body.

"Blimey, Joe," Sav muttered. "Are you always this hot?"

For some reason the question made Joe want to laugh; however, he was now incapable of making any human sounds, as his mouth and nose began to push out into a muzzle. Coarse fur wormed its way out of the pores in his skin, covering his body; his jeans ripped as his muscles acquired lupine strength; bones cracked as they reshaped to form the skeleton of a wolf. All that was left was the tail, which soon made its appearance.

Metamorphosis complete, Joe twisted around and snapped at the tattered remains of his jeans. They fell away like his human form had, and his gaze landed on Sav. Before he could stop himself, his tongue swept across his muzzle and, crouching low, he stalked toward his friend. A nervous, almost frightened look flitted over Sav's face and he backed up until he hit the brick wall of the club.

"Joe, please." Sav's voice was little more than a whisper. "Don't." He drew in a shaky breath as the werewolf eyed him coolly, hunger—and something else—in those glowing not-quite-human blue eyes.

Somewhere within the wolf's body, Joe's human self recognized the pleading tone. The subtle fear-scent was taunting his wolf, and somehow, that made Sav all the more appealing. He could tell Sav just wanted to submit—as he very well should—but was his friend scared for himself or for Joe, caught up as he was in the werewolf's instincts and moon-madness?

Saliva pooled in Joe's mouth as his eyes took in Sav's trembling form, the rapid throbbing of his pulse at his throat. That human heartbeat would taste so bittersweet . . .

"Joe, come on, mate. You know you don't want to hurt me." The bass guitarist's voice was still a whisper, but now it had a pleading, almost desperate tone. There was terror there too, and it was that more than anything else that snapped Joe's wolf instincts and brought his human mind out from under the moon-fever.

Sav tensed when the lupine before him suddenly halted, a shudder running through its body. Then a very familiar voice said, _Sav?_ That was Joe's voice . . . but Sav was hearing it _inside his head_. Not wanting to believe it, he breathed, "Joe? Please tell me I'm not off my rocker."

_No, you're not._ There was a hint of dry humor in the werewolf's thought-speak voice. _And before you ask, yes, I've always been able to use thought-speak, but it only works when I'm morphed. And I can choose who to send it to. There are limits just like normal speaking too. Besides, considering I'm a mythological monster . . ._ The lycanthrope shrugged, a gesture that looked very weird on a wolf. _What did you expect?_

"Something that's not out of an episode of _The Twilight Zone_," Sav snapped. Fear was slowly being overtaken by anger. "You were about to _eat me!"_

The anger in Sav's voice was aggravating Joe's wolf aggression.

The lupine growled, his teeth suddenly looking deadly sharp. _How many times have I told you it's difficult to fight the full moon? And in case you hadn't noticed, Sav_—his mental voice had turned sarcastic and bitter—_my _life _is something out of a_ Twilight Zone _episode._

"Just change back." Neither of them had counted on the break in Sav's voice. For the first time, both Joe and his wolf sensed something vulnerable in the bass player. The animal in the singer, being an alpha, seemed almost amused. _Of course,_ it seemed to say. _He should be scared of us. It's only right. _When Joe protested, saying that this was _Sav_, their packmate, it only gave a low growl, almost as if it was amused. This _is what an alpha can do_, it told Joe's human side as it reached out toward Sav, imposing its will on the bassist, forcing him to slide down the wall. The next thing Joe knew, he was shifting back into human form: lupine strength melted away from marrow and muscle; fur shriveled back into his pores; his spine and pelvis cracked as they adjusted to an upright position; his vision—which was ten times better and had a slight reddish tint in lupine form—returned to normal, or as normal as it was in his human form. When he finished, his jeans were little more than cutoff shorts and his shoes and socks had been shredded. Sav wordlessly handed him his shirt and jacket, clearly uncomfortable.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Joe crouched beside Sav, his right hand brushing the mass of brown curls back over Sav's shoulder, exposing the man's neck.

"What are you doing?"

Sav heard the words leave his mouth, but all he could think about was how close Joe was—how close he'd come to either killing him or turning him—and the heat of the singer's body. His pulse sped up and his breath hitched in his throat when the werewolf leaned in even closer, inhaled his scent. It took all he had not to . . .

To . . . submit.

Joe had always had that effect on him, he suspected. Def Leppard (then called Atomic Mass) had originally been Sav's band, but when Joe was let into the group, he'd taken control almost effortlessly—because of his more bestial nature, probably. The thing was, though, that Sav actually kind of _liked _the feeling. He was perfectly content just to let Joe take over, because he was the alpha of their little pack and it was his job.

That was another problem. Since when did "Joe's the alpha and, apparently, the rest of us are submissive" turn into "Joe's _my _dominant and _I'm _submissive and that's _good_"? It did at some point; Sav wasn't exactly sure when, but right now, none of that mattered. He tilted his head to the side, offering a little more of his throat. Briefly Sav thought, _What in Hades am I doing_? Then the thought was swept aside, because, really, he felt . . . comfortable in this current position.

"Just trust me," Joe whispered, a hint of a growl in his voice. It was clear to Sav that the moon was affecting the vocalist—and yeah, maybe it was affecting him, too. And Sav was so screwed, because he didn't want it any other way. Not the bite, but just the _feeling _that _this _was so _right_, being so close to Joe, his warm breath wafting across his neck. Then he felt icy coldness as the werewolf pressed his fangs to the skin on Sav's throat. They just rested there, not breaking the skin, not even trying to go deeper.

"Joe, what—"

The low growl cut him off. "Do you have any idea what you do to us?" One of Joe's hands fisted tightly in Sav's hair, and the bassist gasped. "Because when you're like this, you're one of the most beautiful things we've ever seen." His fangs traced the outline of Sav's pulse, and he tensed.

"Relax. I'm not going to turn you."

"Then what are you doing?"

"If another wolf or alpha tries to take you, they won't be able to make you part of their pack. You're _mine_, Sav." With that, Joe's fangs sank into Sav's neck, deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to mark.

Sav gasped with pain, wanting to throw Joe off, but not doing anything, all the while fighting the urge to encourage the bite to go deeper, to lean into his alpha. That just wasn't something he was comfortable with. The whole scene felt surreal, actually, like something out of a werewolf movie or _Twilight Zone _episode. Then again, Joe _was _a lycanthrope and they _had _been making comparisons to the Rod Sterling television series only a couple minutes ago.

Joe's head lifted from Sav's neck, and he watched as the skin knit itself back together. A very-confused Sav wiped at his neck, catching any lingering traces of red. "What—?"

"Werewolves have miraculous healing properties. That's not the point. The point is you belongto _me_. My friend, my beta, _my_ _pack_."

Before Sav could say anything to that, Joe caught a familiar scent and whipped his head toward the door of the club, a warning growl rumbling in his chest. The door opened anyway and out spilled Phil and Steve, laughing about something that made sense only to them. Both of them froze when they heard the low growl and glanced down at Joe and Sav, noticing just how close the two were.

"We didn't interrupt anything, did we?" Phil asked, mouth twitching as he fought back a grin.

"You're one to talk," Joe snarled, flashing fangs red with Sav's blood. Both Terror Twins gulped at the sight of bloodstained teeth and promptly turned back to the door. It wasn't long before they were back in the club, and this time, the music was Pat Benatar's "Shadows of the Night."

Sav looked over at Joe. "I don't suppose you want to explain this to them, do you?"

"No."

"That's what I thought. Now help me up, let's find the others, and try to enjoy what's left of the night. And please, no more wolf stuff."

Def Leppard's lead singer grinned roguishly. "I thought you handled that pretty well."

"Whatever you say . . . alpha." Sav pulled open the door, and once again they were part of the club's party atmosphere. Before they went their separate ways, Joe leaned over and warned, "If you start singing 'Can't Fight This Feeling', I just might be tempted to tear out your throat."

"So noted. Now shut up and dance." Sav smirked. It wavered, then faded at the odd, predatory gleam in Joe's eyes. "Uh, Joe?"

The werewolf smiled—with no fangs in sight; Sav found himself wishing there were, so that infamous dimpled smile would give people something to fear—and quoted a line from a 1984 movie: "You gotta cut loose, footloose—"

"I get it. Just don't start singing Poison anytime soon."

Joe pulled a face. "Why would I? Bloody copycats."

Sav laughed at that. Joe felt his entire body relax. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds around him, and just let the music—and Sav's closeness—take him away.


	3. Moonlight: Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The blissful moment, was, unfortunately, short-lived. Joe's eyes snapped open as a girl shrieked, "OH MY GOD! It's Joe Elliott and Rick Savage from Def Leppard!"

The lupine's eyes flew to Sav's and saw his own horror reflected there. "Run?" he suggested.

"Run," Sav agreed.

Together they moved as fast as they could through the crowd, searching for the rest of the band. The mob parted like the Red Sea, although both bassist and singer accidentally knocked into a few people. Sav spun around, eyes scanning, before he groaned in frustration. "Honestly, how hard is it to find a one-armed drummer in here?"

"At the rate we're going, I'd say very," Joe replied, dodging around a couple completely oblivious to the famous musicians.

"Can't you sniff 'em out or something?" Sav asked, ducking to avoid being kicked in the head by a scantily-clad pole-dancer. (Okay, the politically correct term was probably "stripper", but Joe could care less.)

"Maybe, but with all these scents . . ." Joe shook his head. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?" came Rick's familiar voice from behind Joe, who whirled around to see that his drummer looked okay—a little flushed, maybe, but otherwise perfectly fine.

"Uh, forget it. Have you seen Phil or Steve anywhere?"

Rick thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Why?"

"We've been compromised."

"In English, Joe."

"Someone recognized me and Sav, and now a bunch of teenage girls are probably looking for us."

The look on Rick's face was one that said, quite clearly, _Oh crap._"Okay, let's leave."

"Not without the Terror Twins," Joe reminded him. _Now, where are they? Last I saw, they were with me and Sav. I can probably track their scent . . ._Discreetly, he breathed in deeply, turning his head, trying to locate the Terror Twins' scent. Since he practically lived with the band while they were on tour, he knew each member's particular smell by heart. Once he caught it, he moved quickly through the crowd, Sav and Rick breaking into a jog to keep up. Phil and Steve hadn't really moved from where they'd entered with Joe and Sav after encountering them in the alley.

"Hey, Rick, Joe, Sav," Phil greeted them. "What's up?"

Joe had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "We have to leave. Now." He was feeling edgy again, although whether that was because of his wolf or the fear of being swarmed by teenage girls, he had no idea.

Phil's eyes went dark with suspicion. "What did you do, Joe?"

The singer bristled. "Nothing! Of course, unless you want to be run over by rabid fangirls—"

"Good point." The suspicion in Phil's eyes vanished. "Back door?"

"Back door," Joe confirmed. "Move it."

An excited, high-pitched shriek followed by "Is that seriously Def Leppard?!" forced the band to double their efforts. It wasn't long before all five members spilled out into the alley where Joe had transformed not ten minutes before, sprawling in a heap on the ground with Phil on top of Steve and Joe tangled with Sav. Somehow, only Rick managed to regain his balance, stopping him from going the same way as his mates.

"Hey, Joe, I think you can get off me," Sav said, his voice muffled.

"I second that," came Steve's voice from underneath Phil.

Both Joe and Phil rolled off Sav and Steve, respectively, and helped them up. The lupine said, "We might as well head back to the hotel. We have another concert tomorrow, remember."

Rick, Phil, and Steve took the lead, while Joe dropped back to walk with Sav.

"So, Joe," Sav began hesitantly, "about earlier . . ."

"What?" Joe stopped walking and looked at his bass player, his beta in their strange pack of four humans and one lupine.

"What exactly did you do to me?"

"I didn't turn you if that's what you're thinking. One of us has to be in wolf form for the bite to turn a human, and even then there are silverbloods."

"Huh?"

"Someone who won't turn."

"But you said if the bite didn't turn me, it would kill me."

"Silverbloods are the exception." Joe shivered as a chill raced up and down his spine. He was feeling feverish again, the darkness in him itching to be released so it could feed. "Do you want your original question answered or not?"

Sav opened his mouth to reply, but shut it when a voice nearby hissed out of the darkness: "Hey, over here."

The two Leppards looked down the shadowed service road. Sav cocked an eyebrow at Joe, who shrugged and headed down the dark path with his beta on his five.

Joe froze when a hand clapped over his mouth and a low voice ordered, "Give us everything you have on you without any noise or your friend over here gets it."

Pale-green eyes flitted over to Sav and narrowed in fury: The bassist was stock-still, a knife held against his throat, the man behind him way too close.

_"Muggers! Are you effing kidding me?" _Joe's voice was an irritated, disbelieving snarl.

The guy holding Joe frowned in confusion. "Huh?" Clearly, that was not the reaction they were expecting.

"We don't have any money," Sav said, swallowing nervously. "'Sides, you don't want to piss Joe off." Maybe it was result of Joe's bite, but he could feel the singer's rising anger. He stiffened and fell silent when the blade pressed harder against the soft skin of his throat.

"And why is that?" the guy with the knife asked, his voice dangerously silky.

Rage was tinting Joe's vision red. Both he and his wolf were in agreement on one thing: _No one _hurt Sav—or the other Leppards, but mostly Sav—and got away with it. He bit down hard on the hand covering his mouth, pleased when the man released a yelp and dropped his hand, swearing black and blue, even using some words Joe was pretty sure he made up on the spot. The hand balled into a fist, socked him in the stomach, and Joe went with the pain, dropping onto all fours. Saliva mixed with the tang of blood in the back of his throat. The thugs no longer scared him.

They made him hungry.

Dark laughter echoed around him as he watched his nails turn into claws, saw the wiry hairs push their way out of his skin.

"Whoa. Who _is _this freak?" Sav's captor asked.

Sav shrugged. "Oh, just the singer in a little band called Def Leppard. And it looks like you've made him _very _angry. Then again, you Americans have a habit of doing that."

The changing was quicker and easier than last time. Joe shucked off the last vestiges of his human form and released a bone-chilling howl. His glowing blue eyes locked on the man holding the blade to Sav's throat and he bared his fangs, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest.

The men screamed, but not for long.

.*.

Sav could only watch in a kind of horrified fascination as the blond werewolf turned on their attackers. Claws slashed deep, bloody gashes in chests; jaws that could crack a moose's skull easily bruised a human throat. The muggers were still breathing: Joe's wolf wasn't a killer, because Joe Elliott wasn't a killer. He might have a temper, but as far as Sav knew, Joe had never killed anyone while acting out.

The werewolf raised his head from one of the muggers' bodies and padded over to Sav. A soft whine rose in his throat, and he pushed his silken head under Sav's hand. It wasn't long before Sav was scratching behind Joe's ears and the wolf's eyes were slitted in pleasure. Of course, if Joe was in human form right now, Sav highly doubted he would be doing this.

_That feels good, Sav. Just a little harder, more to the left . . ._ Joe's thought-speak voice was embedded with a satisfied purr. The wolf's head tilted to the head, following Sav's hand, and he finally shook himself briskly. I_ needed that._

"The fight or the scratch?"

_Both._ Joe stiffened and swiveled his ears toward the opening of the service road. _Someone's coming_. Stiff-legged, hackles raised, the werewolf stepped protectively in front of Sav, ignoring the withering glare from the bassist scorching into his fur.

"Sav? Joe? Are you guys all right?"

The lupine relaxed his fighting stance as the rest of the band came around the corner. It was Steve who had called out, his words already slurred. (Joe wondered briefly how much the man had had to drink.)

"We heard a scream. Are you guys okay?" That was Phil, who stepped up next to Steve. The rhythm guitarist paused when he saw the huge wolf crouched in front of Sav, then the still forms of the attempted muggers. "Well, that explains why they suddenly stopped." He shot an accusatory look at Joe. "You didn't kill them, did you?"

The lycanthrope gave an indignant snort. Phil didn't need a translator to guess what it meant: _Oh, please. I have more restraint than what you give me credit for._

"No, he didn't," Sav said. "They're still breathing. Besides, Joe's wolf is not a killer because _Joe_isn't a cold-blooded killer."

_You've got that right_, Joe said, sending the thought only to Sav. Now that the threat of danger had passed, his human self would begin to regain dominance over the wolf. Already he could feel lupine strength bleeding away from marrow and muscle. It was only a matter of seconds before he was human again—and naked.

Sav quickly stripped one of the unconscious men of jeans and shirt and handed the clothes to Joe, who kept his back to the others while he dressed.

"Anyone else ready to hit the sack?" he asked when he was finished, turning back to the rest of the band. "I'm beat."

Yes, he was tired, but it wasn't because of the shifting. Having to control his wolf, then his inner turmoil over his feelings for Sav, not to mention the fact it was half past midnight, was draining him. And since they were touring with Bon Jovi and had another concert tomorrow, it was best they all received at least a few hours of sleep.

.*.

Joe tossed and turned restlessly in the hotel bed. Try as hard as he might, he just couldn't sleep. He felt sweaty, clammy, as if he was running a fever—but the full moon always had that affect on him.

"Joe?" Sav's voice whispered through the darkness. Shadows shifted, then condensed to form the bassist's familiar profile. A twitch ran through the lupine, causing his legs to jerk restlessly when he realized just how close Sav was to the edge of his bed.

"What are you—"

"Relax. You can't sleep, right?" Sav didn't wait for an answer. "So I might as well keep you company until you do."

_Oh. Okay, _Joe thought groggily. The moon, bright and fat, was clouding his thinking, making it hard to focus on anything.

It was also making him drowsy.

He wasn't sure how long Sav sat on the edge of his bed, but as sleep finally claimed him, he thought he felt long, calloused fingers lightly brush across his forehead and the mass of blond curls.

Then Sav was gone and he knew nothing more.

* * *

**Notes:**  
This is the last chapter in this story. Then I'm going to start on the second story in this series. Anything you might want to see in that, just let me know. I'm thinking of bringing in Bon Jovi, since in this, Def Leppard is on tour with them . . . Oh, all the plot bunnies. :)


	4. In the Still of the Night: Chapter 1

**It's taken me a while to write this one, mostly because I've had almost no spare time after school. Hopefully I'll have more time to write after the school play is over.**

* * *

**Two:**

**In the Still of the Night**

* * *

**Chapter One**

_In the still of the night  
__I hear the wolf howl honey  
__Sniffing around your door  
__In the still of the night  
__I feel my heart beating heavy  
__Telling me I gotta have more_

_In the shadow of the night  
__I see the full moon rise  
__Telling me what's in store  
__My heart started aching  
__My body start a-shaking  
__And I can't take no more_

_No, no . . ._

Joe Elliott, the lead singer in British hard rock band Def Leppard, fought to open his eyes when he heard music. Then he realized what song was playing and sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes quickly scanning the beds where his bandmates were sleeping. Steve Clark, Phil Collen, and Rick Allen were still out cold, so that just left . . .

"Sav." The name of the bushy-haired brunette bass guitarist came out as a snarl. Joe's pale-green eyes glowed bright blue for a second as his irritation stirred the wolf sleeping inside him. Then the bright blue color faded to its normal light-green, almost blue shade. In a flash, he was on his feet and striding into the living room of the penthouse condo.

"Really, Sav? Whitesnake? I know you like Queen, but I never figured you liked them."

Rick Savage, his beta, shrugged. "What can I say? This song has a wicked guitar solo."

Sav turned away from Joe and headed into the kitchenette, searching the cupboards. He pulled out a skillet and set it on the stove. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Bacon," Joe replied instantly, "and eggs." His mouth was already starting to water.

It wasn't long before the sounds and smells of cooking eggs and frying bacon saturated the air. Minuets later, crisp bacon and scrambled eggs were ready for both of them with plenty left over for the rest of the band if they so chose. (Right now though, Joe was the only one eating bacon. Sav wasn't much of a meat person.)

Joe was vaguely aware that the song had changed—was that really the Scorpions' "Rock You Like a Hurricane"?—but at the moment, he didn't care. He was too busy eating to care about Sav's music choices. That is, until the lines "The night is calling, I have to go. The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's licking his lips, he's ready to win on the hunt tonight for love at first sting." The lupine scowled. "You better not have 'Bark at the Moon' up next, Sav."

"The Ozzy Osbourne song?"

"Is there any other version?"

"Good point. It's funny you should mention that . . ."

Joe growled. "It is, isn't it? Do you love torturing me or something?"

He wished he could take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. For the past two days, his relationship with Sav had taken somewhat of a more intimate turn, one he wasn't sure he was comfortable with. Correction: his wolf, being an alpha, was perfectly okay with the idea of Sav being more than just a friend. His wolf had already claimed Sav as part of his pack, but Joe suspected it wanted more than that—wanted Sav as its mate. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about that, because wolf or not, the human side of him was there, too.

The sudden tension between him and Sav was palpable, and Joe really did not want to think too hard on what _kind _of tension it was, exactly. Thankfully, Sav broke it by clearing his throat. "You never answered my question from last night."

"I thought I'd made it clear after I bit you. You're part of my pack. Even if another werewolf turns you, you won't be able to join their pack. I'm your alpha."

"Why just me? I mean, you didn't do that to the others, right?"

"No, I haven't done this to the rest of the band, and I don't know why it was you first, Sav." He wanted to pin it on instinct, the full moon, his wolf, or a combination of all three, but that wasn't quite right. If he thought about it too much, he was afraid of what he might discover—and what it said about himself.

"Aside from making me part of your pack, what else did you do?" Sav asked. "Last night, when hose guys attacked us, I could _feel _your emotions as if they were my own." Sav's eyes met Joe's briefly, then quickly darted away. Eye contact meant a challenge, and he didn't like challenging Joe's authority like that—like a wolf. He was okay with mouthing off and messing around because those were human things, but Joe's animalistic nature brought out something vulnerable, submissive, in him—and Sav hated himself for it. Yet at the same time, that submissive part of him knew he should be at Joe' s feet, because at least there he felt protected, could simply _be. _What he felt, though, wasn't quite any of that. It was all of it, and actually, he _liked _knowing Joe was his alpha, would be there for him—could even control him, like the way he'd made him slide down the brick wall outside that club the night before. He'd felt _owned_, and he never wanted the feeling to go away.

"Well," Joe's voice said, snapping Sav back to the man sitting across from him, "that would be one side effect. Since you're mine"—his inner wolf practically howled with satisfaction—"we have a connection. I can tell where you're at anytime, anyplace, and you can do the same. As you've noticed, there's an empathy link."

A short laugh escaped Sav. "Well, this is awkward."

"You're telling me," Joe muttered.

"No kidding," came Phil's voice. Both vocalist and bassist turned their heads in his direction and saw the rhythm guitarist leaning casually against the doorway, Steve and Rick flanking him, all three of them looking half asleep. Then, as one, their eyes landed on the skillets still three-quarters full with eggs and bacon (Joe saw their eyes light up from halfway across the room). Within seconds, the other three Leppards were loading their plates and settling down beside Joe and Sav to dig in.

"So, what's the schedule for today?" Rick asked in between bites of toast.

All five of them looked toward the refrigerator, where they'd pinned the tour schedule. Sav, who was closest, went and took in down, then brought it back. "Looks like we don't have to report until nine this morning. It's, what, seven thirty now?"

"Yeah," Joe answered, checking his watch. "Might as well head down when we're finished here."

"'Kay," Steve mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.

There was silence as the band settled into the serious business of eating, though Joe sent a glowering look at Sav's smirk when Ozzy Osbourne's "Bark at the Moon" started playing.

.*.

All five members of Def Leppard were at the World Arena in Denver by nine that morning. The guys were in their dressing room hanging out, talking, with Phil, Steve, and Sav messing around on guitars, when a familiar voice said, "Well, fancy meeting you guys here."

Joe's head, along with Sav's, swiveled toward the dressing room door. Standing there, slumped against the doorway, hands in his pockets, was Jon Bon Jovi. His lead guitarist, Richie Sambora, was right behind him. Joe couldn't see Tico Torres or David Bryan, but he knew they were around here somewhere since he'd caught their scent. The lupine also knew Jon and David weren't human. They weren't werewolves—he didn't know what they were—but they fed on energy. Other people's energy. And to be honest, that wigged Joe out a little. He could deal with his own lycanthropy—had been ever since he was about six—but other supernatural creatures made his wolf edgy. In spite of that, he liked Jon and his bandmates. So did the rest of Def Leppard, even if none of them knew Jon and David's secret—except Sav, of course.

Presently, Joe smiled at Jon. "Yeah, 'specially since we're touring together. Who would've thought?"

Richie laughed and clapped a hand on Jon's left shoulder. "He's got you there," the guitarist said with a grin.

Jon swiftly flipped him the bird, which only made Richie's grin widen.

"Do you guys want to hang with us?" Phil asked.

Jon and Richie glanced at each other. Richie just shrugged, while Jon said, "Sure. Might as well."

The two of them made themselves comfortable on the small couch tucked away in a corner. Richie picked up one of Phil's guitars that was lying around, checked to make sure it was in tune, and started messing around with a particular riff, one everybody in the room recognized.

"Seriously, Rich?" Jon said incredulously. "'Pour Some Sugar on Me'?"

"What, would you rather it be . . ." Richie instantly started another riff, and the other six guys made various sounds of disbelief.

"'Talk Dirty to Me'?" Joe all but snarled. "I'm starting to think you're worse than Sav here."

"Hey!" his bandmate protested.

Richie just shrugged, smirked, and switched songs yet again, singing along this time. "_In the still of the night, I hear the wolf howl, honey, sniffing around your door. In the still of the night I feel my heart beating heavy, telling me I gotta have more._

_"In the shadow of the night I see the full moon rise, telling me what's in store. My heart started aching, my body started shaking, and I can't take no more. No, no._

_"Now I just wanna get close to you and taste your love so sweet—"_

"That's enough," Joe growled, his green eyes flashing bright blue.

Jon's own pale-blue eyes locked on Richie's. "Whitesnake? _Really_?"

Richie smirked. "Hey, this song has a pretty cool guitar solo."

"That's what I told Joe," Sav said, "but he didn't believe me." He playfully messed up the singer's hair by running a splayed hand through it and quickly flicking it left to right. Joe sent him a dirty look, but Sav ignored it.

The lead guitar player in Bon Jovi gave an exaggerated sigh. Then he started playing yet another song, one very familiar to him. Jon sang softly, "No one heard a single word you said. They should have seen it in your eyes what was going around your head. Ooh, she's a little runaway. Daddy's girl learned fast all those things he couldn't say. Ooh, she's a little runaway . . ."

Joe noticed that his three guitarists were eyeing their guitars, fingers twitching, tapping out a familiar rhythm. He caught Rick's eye and grinned when he saw the drummer was shaking with silent laughter. The werewolf gave a short nod to Sav and the Terror Twins, and all three assumed their playing positions. After checking to make sure they were in tune, the three Leppards began the mournful intro to "Bringin' on the Heartbreak" with Joe singing the lyrics.

"Not bad," Jon said when they'd finished. "That was off of, what, _High 'N' Dry_?"

"Yeah," Steve answered. With a guitar in his hand, he was different from the sullen and jumpy Steve his bandmates knew when he lost himself in a bottle, setting sail with Captain Morgan, never to leave dry land.

"What else do you guys have?" Phil asked Jon and Richie.

They glanced at each other; then Richie's fingers began moving over the fretboard once more, playing the intro to "You Give Love a Bad Name." Then Sav and the Terror Twins cut in with "Stagefright." Before long, the four guitarists were battling each other—or rather, the three Leppards were ganging up on Richie. Joe saw his own amusement reflected in Rick's eyes, but when he glanced at Jon, the man's pale-blue eyes were like ice, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The lupine suppressed a shudder as he wondered if Jon felt anything at all. As much as he liked Jon, all of his instincts were shrieking at him to keep his band—his pack—away from any threat of danger. Joe had no doubt that Jon—whatever he was—was feeding on the energy coming from their bandmates. Although it didn't seem to be hurting them, all his instincts were protesting against it.

Joe's green eyes held Jon's ice-blue ones, the lycanthrope's eyes slowly turning turquoise-blue. His canines itched as they elongated, so his fangs were visible when he curled his upper lip in a warning snarl.

Ta_ke it easy, Joe,_ he heard Sav's voice say over the pack bond.

_You know I can hear you, right?_

_Really? Cool, this does work! I can choose which thoughts to send to you, right?_

_Yes. Now shut up and play._

A tiny smile flickered on Sav's lips, then was gone before Jon or the others noticed. Joe wondered if he'd even seen it, but he was careful not to send the thought to Sav. Besides, the way Jon was eyeing him wasn't making his wolf go away; if anything, the urge to shift was dangerously close. If he let the wolf go, he wasn't sure exactly how Jon, Richie, Steve, Phil, or Rick would take it. Sav had known about his lycanthropy for five years, but the rest of Def Leppard had only found out about his animalistic nature the night before, and only Sav had seen him turn 'wolf. Joe wasn't sure how much Jon and Richie knew about him: his wolf had been the one to detect that Jon fed on the energy he stole from humans. If the lupine had to name what Jon and David were, he'd call them psychic vampires—and even that was a tentative label at best. Pseudo-vampires, maybe. In any case, Joe was going to lose it if he stayed in the dressing room for too long.

As casually as he could, he excused himself and walked out of the dressing room. In the men's restroom, he made a beeline for the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. Joe couldn't help glancing in the mirror as he reached for a paper towel. His eyes were slowly returning to their normal color, and his fangs were receding, too. The danger of the change taking hold was fading. For now.

His ears caught the whisper of air and the scrape against the floor as the bathroom door opened. A familiar scent reached his nose even before Sav asked, "Are you okay, Joe?"

Joe didn't answer. Glancing down at the sink, he saw his knuckles were gripping the counter so tightly they were as white as the porcelain. His entire body was tense, though he had no idea why.

Sav's scent wreathed around him, and familiar, long, calloused fingers gently touched his shoulder. Joe's thin line of control snapped. He whirled, grabbed Sav by the shirt collar, and had the bassist up against the tiled wall. The lycanthrope leaned in close, his warm mouth hovering over the skin where neck met shoulder. His right hand began playing with Sav's long brown curls, while his left hand was braced on the wall in front of him.

"Um, Joe, have you lost it?"

When he finally spoke, Joe's voice was low, dark, and six shades of ragged: "Yeah. Half my human side, a long time ago." Was that really his voice? It sure didn't sound like it. "What is it my wolf sees in you?" Now his voice had a questioning lilt, still rough, but curious, too. "There's something vulnerable, submissive, and he finds that amusing. At first, I wondered if that was all, but now . . ." His sharpened canines scraped the soft skin of Sav's throat, then traveled upward, tugging at Sav's left earlobe before tracing his jawline.

During all this, Sav had gone completely still, though Joe sensed his muscles quivering, heard the breath hitch in Sav's throat. Sav's pulse was racing, and the werewolf could smell the musk that belied desire. He was pretty sure REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling" was playing over the sound system throughout the building—cheesy as all get-out, especially considering the position he was currently in—but at the moment, Joe didn't care. His focus was entirely on the man in front of him—and the beast inside threatening to take him over.

"Now, what?" Sav rasped, bringing Joe out of his dazed explorations.

"Huh?"

"You were saying," Sav prompted, voice thick.

"My wolf . . . he wants you."

"How? I'm already in your pack."

Joe leaned in even closer, so close their shirts brushed. His right hand tightened its grip on Sav's hair, and his lips grazed the spot where he'd bitten Sav the night before. "What do you think?" he growled low.

Before the beta could reply, the door opened and in walked Jon and Richie. Both Joe and Sav sprang apart, but neither Richie nor Jon seemed fazed. If anything, Richie's expression was of the cat-swallowed-the-canary variety, and Jon . . . well, his expression was hard to read, but Joe thought the other singer looked amused. A low growl rumbled in his chest before he could stop it and he stepped in front of Sav, claws sprouting from his fingertips.

Instantly the cat-swallowed-the-canary look vanished from Richie's face, while calm stole across Jon's. Bon Jovi's lead singer stepped forward, hands open where Joe could see them. "Take it easy," he said in a soothing tone, as if he were talking to a cornered animal. "We're not trying to move in on your territory."

The werewolf's only reply was to bare his fangs and step forward. Joe's wolf was very close to the surface—too close. Then cool hands were on his back, his shoulders, and the touch—the effect—of the anchor brought his human side back in control. Joe's claws and fangs retracted, and he breathed in, sent Sav a mental message over the pack bond that he was okay now. The bassist's hands lingered on his shoulders for a couple seconds, then lifted.

Joe's eyes fixed on Jon and Richie. "Sorry about that."

"What was that?" Richie asked, looking from Jon to Joe to Sav and back to Jon. "I know about you, but what is he?"

"I'm a werewolf," Joe answered before Jon could, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He had to bite back the "isn't it obvious," but it was in there. "Did you guys come in here for some other reason than to use the loo?"

"Yeah, your bandmates sent us to look for you. Said something about lunch later on, and, well, I got the impression they were scared of you," Jon said. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now we know why, although I've suspected that since I first met you. I'm guessing your wolf picked up on my and David's secret."

"Uh-huh," Joe said shortly. Sav shifted his weight behind him, and the lupine took that as his cue. "Looks like you've found us. See you later tonight, eh?"

He brushed past Jon and Richie without waiting for their response, Sav on his heels. Once the door was shut behind them, he glanced at his beta, knowing he had a lot of explaining to do—and wondering exactly how he was going to do it.

A smile flickered across Sav's face as blue eyes met pale-green ones.

Each could see the need in the other's.


	5. In the Still of the Night: Chapter 2

**Two:**

**In the Still of the Night**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Sav's gaze held Joe's for a moment longer, then dropped to a safer place—nose, mouth, shoulders. He'd known Joe's secret ever since he'd accidentally walked in on him on a full moon night—Change Night, some called it—to find Joe halfway into the lupine state, and had been involved in all sorts of crazy since then, but these past three days made some past events seem downright normal. Being claimed by an alpha werewolf, the complexities of his relationship with said 'wolf, and the stress of being on tour coupled with the full moon . . . This was definitely one of the strangest tours he'd ever been on.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me exactly what you were doing before we were interrupted," he mumbled.

"It's fairly obvious, don't you think?"

Yes, it was, but he wanted to hear Joe say it. Not that Sav would ever admit it, just like he wouldn't admit that he'd _liked _what the 'wolf had been doing to him—and he wanted more. He was pretty sure Joe knew that, that the lupine had been able to smell it on him. If Jon and Richie hadn't walked in when they did, what would have happened? Sav knew it wasn't entirely one-sided: Joe had admitted that his 'wolf wanted him, and Sav had guessed that, for some reason or another, he was the only one who could help the singer when the beast inside was fully in control. He'd felt Joe's tense muscles relax under his touch (and quiver, too). The bass player was also sure that Joe had been able to smell his rising desire, and Sav didn't quite know what to make of that anyway. Still, he couldn't stop picturing the scene back in the restroom: Joe up against him, tasting him . . . _claiming _him in the way his 'wolf wanted . . .

"It's not just my 'wolf," Joe said suddenly.

_What the fu—_

"I can read your mind. There's an empathy link, remember?"

"Can you turn it off?"

The singer flashed him a wicked smile. "Only if I want to."

"Do you?"

"No."

_Wonderful, _Sav thought sarcastically.

"You never answered my question," Joe said after a slight pause.

"Because I want to hear _you _say it." So much for not admitting that out loud.

"Say what?"

Sav, frustrated, raked a hand through his hair. "You know bloody well what," he snapped. "You're the one who had me up against the wall, teasing me—_wanting_—"

"Okay, you're right," Joe interrupted, the hint of a growl in his voice. "And so was I. It's not just my 'wolf who wants you, Sav." He sighed, shook his head. "The thing with this—and this is what I've learned from other 'wolves—is you can be the straightest person on Earth, but when the wolf picks its mate, your human side has no say in it. And, well, it looks like my 'wolf chose you."

"Damn." Sav's eyes flew to Joe's, then glanced away just as quickly.

"Hey, do you two want to move?" said Richie from the bathroom doorway. "You're blocking the hallway."

Both Joe and Sav jumped, startled, and moved out of their fellow rocker's way, then headed back to the dressing room.

When the werewolf and his bandmate were out of sight, Richie turned to Jon. "So, do you think there's something between them, or is that just me?"

"It's not just you," Jon said with a smile, his fingers playing with Richie's long dark hair. "I see it too—we even walked in on them, Sambora."

"What _were _they doing, exactly?" Richie mused. "Certainly not what you do to me or what David does to Tico when you share that stolen energy after a gig."

"Not exactly," Jon said. "I don't know much about werewolves—"

Richie scoffed. "Does anyone?"

"—but it's fairly obvious he's made Sav part of his pack."

"Meaning what?"

"What do you know about wolves?"

"Not much. I know there's a strong pack mentality, but that's about it."

"And you've hit the nail on the head," Jon commented, starting to walk down the hall to his band's own dressing room. His best friend scurried after him. "Joe's lupine, so he has that pack mentality, and he's an alpha on top of that—a pack leader."

"How do you—" Richie began, then stopped. "Oh, yeah, that whole feeding-on-energy thing. For someone who doesn't know a whole lot about werewolves, you sure know a lot."

"I read, believe it or not. Anyway, he probably views me and David as a threat to his pack."

"Pack?"

"His band. Def Leppard."

"Oh. You think he had anything to do with their first guitarist leaving?" Richie was remembering how Jon had had Alec leave Bon Jovi: staring into the bassist's eyes, tearing out a piece of his soul, implanting a false memory.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Jon said.

An evil smile slowly crawled across Richie's face. He threw back his head and cackled, wringing his hands together, while Jon looked at him like he was nuts. "What was _that_?"

"So much ammunition," Richie said gleefully. "_Aahoo! Werewolves of __London__. Aahoo! Aahoo! Werewolves of __London__. Aahoo!_"

"He's from Sheffield, actually," Jon said with a smirk.

"Ah, so you see my point."

"Yeah. Now shut up before Joe hears you. Do you really want an angry werewolf out for your blood?"

"No."

"Now you see _my _point. C'mon, let's see if Tico and David are around anywhere."

/*/

Hours later, Jon and his bandmates were just coming offstage; the members of Def Leppard were in the wings. As David and Jon passed him, Joe wrinkled his nose. It was an involuntary reaction—he couldn't help it. He knew Jon and David glutted themselves every night they played: his 'wolf sensed it. Thankfully, the two bands were playing "in the round" and it was the last night of the full moon. Yes, the full moon made it easier for Joe's lupine to grab hold of him, but the reason it was most associated with werewolves was because it was the 'wolf Sabbath. During its other phases, it was still an influence on lycanthropes, but more powerful ones—or even sharp newbloods—could shift at will.

When Bon Jovi was completely offstage, Joe, Sav, Phil, Rick, and Steve took their places. (Joe thought it was pure genius making their way to the stage in laundry carts: no one ever thought about what was in a laundry cart, and this way, they weren't mobbed by the fans. Besides, being near so many humans excited the 'wolf bloodlust, and when they came up through the stage floor, the crowd almost always went nuts. It was one of the band's favorite things about performing in the round, and the fact there were four front row seats didn't hurt, either. Certainly it beat performing on a regular stage, where people in the way back might not hear or see them clearly.)

Joe glanced around at his packmates to see if they were ready, then looked out to the audience. "I said, Welcome to my show. Just you and me, babe. We got the whole damn night to go!"

The guitars kicked in, and Joe was already crossing to the other side of the stage, singing the next verse of "Stagefright." One advantage about performing during Change Nights was that he had a lot of excess energy. On the downside, when the performance high wore off, he was almost sick—or so it seemed—with the moon-fever. That was for later, though.

When they reached "Love Bites" in their set list, Joe found his attention was drawn to Sav. Suddenly it took on a very personal meaning—and _none _of their songs were personal, save maybe "Photograph" and "Rocket" (and even those were about Marilyn Monroe and favorite bands, respectively).

_"I don't wanna touch you too much baby  
__'Cos makin' love to you might drive me crazy  
__I know you think that love is the way you make it  
__So I don't wanna be there when you decide to break it  
__No!"_

Sometime during that verse, he and Sav were back-to-back. His 'wolf, sensing the bassist's nearness, leapt to the surface, trailing a clawed hand down Sav's side. Hopefully, from the angle they were at, no one in the audience could see.

_"Love bites, love bleeds—it's bringing me to my knees  
__Love lives, love dies—it's no surprise  
__Love begs, love pleads—it's what I need"_

Sav's head rested on Joe's shoulder, eyes half-closed in bliss as his fingers moved across the guitar strings, a smile ghosting over his face. It was incredibly sensual all of a sudden, and Joe had to fight the urge to taste him. Phil and Steve did stuff like that onstage all the time, but then again, they weren't called the Terror Twins for nothing. Besides, stunts like that were expected of those two, not Sav and Joe.

_"When I'm with you, are you somewhere else?  
__Am I getting through, or do you please yourself_?  
_When you wake up, will you walk out?  
__It can't be love if you throw it about.  
__Oooh, babe . . ."_

Joe's 'wolf was going crazy, trying to take over. A familiar heat was coursing through him; his eyes were flickering from green to blue and back again.

"Don't you dare go 'wolf on me," Sav hissed, so quiet that only Joe could hear.

For once, the anchor wasn't working. Joe gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and willed the heat in his skin to dissipate.

Somehow, he wasn't sure how, he made it through the rest of "Love Bites." Then the band launched into "Comin' Under Fire," which really didn't help.

_"Your kinda woman got a heart of stone  
But watch it break when I get you alone  
Take a chance, come lay down with me  
Oh, I wanna make it_

_Slow and steady never lost the race  
Don't stop runnin', I'm a fool for the chase  
Play the game, surrender to me  
Baby, I don't wanna fake it_

_Is it any wonder, you got me comin' under fire?  
__Comin' like thunder, you know you make me walk the wire . . ."_

Joe knew he was in serious trouble when the wolf crept into his eyes, his canines twisted into fangs, and his nails curled into claws. He risked a glance at Sav, one that screamed _Help me! _in big silent letters. What was wrong with him? He'd always kept control when performing on Change Nights before, save for last night.

Sav made his way over to Joe as casually as he could—they'd separated during "Love Bites"—and leaned against Joe's free side, the one that didn't have the microphone. This time, his human side was able to push back the 'wolf, and signs of what he was were hidden again.

_"It's so easy to put on a show  
__Your body says yes, but you won't let it go  
__But my passion, it won't slip away . . ."_

A few songs later, the band took a breather. Joe reached out for one of the water bottles that were always kept onstage and took a swig. Then a sudden shriek and a startled noise from Sav made his head whip around. His eyes bulged and the water hit his stomach as a cold, hard lump.

Some chick had somehow managed to grab hold of Sav's leg; the bassist's face was petrified, like, _Someone get this crazy chick off me! _He was trying to back away, but that wasn't helping.

A swift glance at the others showed they were trying not to bust out laughing. So it was up to Joe—again.

He stalked across the stage, growling low in his throat. His eyes flicked side-to-side—ever a wolf, always predatory. The werewolf reached Sav and the teenage girl and glared down at her, allowing some of the lupine to creep into his eyes, the growl never ceasing. His nails were slightly longer than normal, but he doubted the girl would notice, since his hands were busy disengaging hers from Sav's leg. And if they accidentally grazed Sav's arse, well, was it really his fault?

"Oh my God" reached his ears; Joe jerked his head up from near Sav's shoulder as if he'd been whipped—or caught a tantalizing prey-scent—and glared at the audience member, who took a step back at the wild, dangerous look in his pale-green eyes.

Seconds later, the atmosphere returned to normal, or as normal as could be expected, and the band resumed their playing positions. Joe swept his gaze over the audience before he lifted the mike to his mouth and said, "This next song is off a fairly new album, so we're a little nervous about covering it. But since it fits the mood for tonight . . ." He shrugged. "Let us know what you think, yeah?"

There was silence, then Phil and Steve's guitars screamed out the opening chords to a Whitesnake single.

_"In the still of the night  
__I hear the wolf howl, honey  
Sniffing around your door  
__In the still of the night  
__I feel my heart beating heavy  
__Telling me I gotta have more_

_In the shadow of the night  
__I see the full moon rise  
__Telling me what's in store  
__My heart started aching  
__My body started shaking  
__And I can't take no more_

_No, no._

_Now I just wanna get close to you  
__And taste your love so sweet  
__And I just wanna make love to you  
__Feel your body heat_

_In the still of the night  
__In the still of the night  
__Over here, baby_

_In the heat of the day  
__I hang my head down low  
__And hide my face from the sun  
__From the light of the day  
__Until the evening time  
__I'm waiting for the night to come_

_Ooh, baby_

_In the still of the night  
__In the cool moonlight  
__I feel my heart is aching  
__In the still of the night . . ."_

During all those verses, the band had been moving around the stage, and Joe found himself paired with Sav yet again. The bassist's scent filled his nostrils; it took everything in him to resist bending his head to taste that skin, the throbbing pulse of life-blood. Thankfully, he had to sing the next verse, while the others were on a soft guitar solo.

_"Oooh, baby  
__Oooh, babe  
__I can't keep away  
__Need to be closer_

_I can't keep away  
__Can't keep away  
__Can't keep away  
__I can't keep away, no_

_You gotta give me love  
__Got to give me some loving everyday  
__Can't keep away_

_Ooh, baby  
__Ooh, Lord  
__Aahh_

_Tell me here, baby"_

Phil, Steve, and Sav were ripping it up on the guitar solo, while Joe—as usual—was running (or not) around onstage. Phosphorescent-blue eyes locked in on Sav on the next verse and stayed there as he moved ever closer to his beta.

_"In the still of the night  
__I hear the wolf howl, honey  
__Sniffing around your door  
__In the still of the night  
__I feel my heart beating heavy  
__Telling me I gotta have more_

_Ooh! Mama_

_Now I just wanna get close to you  
__And taste your love so sweet  
__And I just wanna make love to you  
__Feel your body heat_

_In the still of the night  
__Oh, yeah  
__In the still of the night  
__I will be sneaking round your door_

_In the still of the night  
__In the still of the night  
__Ain't nothing gonna stop me now_

_Still of the night  
__Still of the night  
__Still of the night_

_Still of the night  
__Still of the night  
__Still of the night_

_Still of the night  
__Still of the night  
__Still of the night"_

The crowd was going nuts—or, rather, the teenage girls were—so the 'wolf figured they'd liked the Whitesnake cover. Of course, the fact he'd let some of the wild animal inside him show didn't hurt either, although he figured none of the humans would know what the physical changes meant, if they were visible at all.

A couple of songs later, the concert was over and the band filed off below the stage. The members of Bon Jovi were waiting there, sly smirks twitching at Richie's mouth and lighting in Jon's ice-blue eyes.

"What?" Joe asked, looking from guitarist to singer.

Mischievous laughter danced in Sambora's eyes. "So, did you mean that, Joe?"

Joe suddenly found it hard to look at his packmates—bandmates, whatever. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

Richie's smirk widened. "How does that one verse go? Oh, yeah: _In the shadow of the night I see the full moon rise, telling me what's in store. My heart started aching, my body started shaking, and I can't take no more . . . Now I just wanna get close to you, and taste your love so sweet. And I just wanna make love to you, feel your body heat . . . _Then, of course, all the moves with you and Sav onstage—"

The low, feral growl rumbled from Joe's throat and he lunged for Richie, claws extended and fangs bared. Strong arms wrapped around him before he could reach the Jovi guitarist and drew him close; Sav's comforting scent filled his senses. But at the moment, the anchor wasn't helping. Joe's 'wolf was out for blood—and it wouldn't be denied, not even by a human beta.

"Sav, let me go!" he snarled, twisting and bucking, trying to loosen Sav's hold on him.

"Sorry, mate, not happening." Sav's long hair brushed Joe's neck as he turned his head to glare at their bandmates. "Don't just stand there! Help me!"

"You look like you're doing just fine," Rick said quickly after a pause.

_Coward. _Joe nearly burst out laughing when he caught Sav's thought, but since he was still struggling, it would look odd. So he sent the laugh into Sav's mind.

Jon and his bandmates, meanwhile, had dragged Richie out of harm's way. David, Tico, and Richie were staring at Joe with wide, frightened eyes; their fear-scent was delicious to the werewolf. He twisted in Sav's arms, claws digging into the pink skin, drew blood. Joe heard Sav's hissing intake of breath at the pain, but he still wouldn't release him.

Then, somehow (he wasn't sure how), his back was to the nearest wall, Sav's body pressing against his.

"Joe, cool it!" Sav hissed.

Those glowing blue eyes, filled with bloodlust, never left Richie. Sav could only watch helplessly as he felt Joe's body grow uncomfortably hot, saw the strong features begin to twist and fracture. Joe, _his _Joe, was no longer there. The beast that wore his skin had crept in to replace him, and in all honesty, Sav was more scared now than he had ever been in his life. He could die here with Joe in his arms if he bit him, an instinctive snapping of jaws in the throes of the metamorphosis, or the bite could change him forever—turn him 'wolf. Since there was no cure, there would be no going back. But for one long trusting moment while he held Joe, none of that mattered.

Sav's hand rested on the golden fur covering Joe's flank, feeling the muscles there quiver. Then the lupine shook his ruff, hackles raised, and forced his way free of the restraining hold. Snarling, Joe crept closer to Richie, muscles tense, and leaped, blue eyes narrowed with hatred.

"Oh, bloody hell," the Terror Twins said in unison. Rick mumbled something incoherent, while Sav yelled, "NO!" The bassist practically flew the few yards separating him from Joe and landed squarely on the 'wolf's back. Startled, the lupine yelped and jumped straight up into the air, crow-hopping and bucking desperately in a circle to try to throw the unexpected weight off. Sav clung on, eyes narrowed in determination—and his arm dangerously close to Joe's muzzle.

He'd never be sure if it was by accident or not, but dagger-like fangs sank into the skin on his arm. Sav yelled with pain and wrenched himself free of Joe's lupine body, landing heavily on the floor.

The 'wolf forgot all about Richie and swung around to face Sav. Recognition flared in those glowing blue orbs, then dismay as they saw the bite mark on Sav's arm. A low whine spilled from his throat, and he padded on silent paws over to the bassist. Joe snuffled at Sav's hair, his face, then licked the pale skin that was already burning. He didn't want to face those accusing blue eyes, eyes that screamed _How could you? You'd promised you wouldn't give me the bite!_

Above them, unseen, the full moon reached its zenith.

Sav's cry of pain mixed with Joe's anguished howl. He felt as if his insides were being squeezed into a vice; he was burning, his body on fire . . . Then the feeling broke, replaced by a calming wave. Instinctively Sav knew it was wrong to feel this way: a feeling this good only came with a terrible price.

He tried to stand up, but his body didn't want to work like that.

It wanted to stay on all fours.

The faces of Jon, Richie, Tico, David, Rick, Steve, and Phil were much higher than he was, and they all reflected shock and horror. And Joe's lupine face was at eye level.

Sav glanced down and froze when he saw his paws—yes, _paws_. Then he turned rapidly in a circle, chasing his . . . well, his _tail_. All of his senses seemed sharper, and his vision had a strange reddish tint.

Then the truth hit him with horrible clarity and he shrank back on his haunches, ears flat against his furry head. No, he moaned. No, no, _no_ . . .

Joe's scent enveloped him as the bigger 'wolf nuzzled him, and Sav relaxed. His _alpha _was here, would know what to do. He _wanted _Joe's 'wolf to reach inside him, control him, because he had no idea how to handle his lycanthropy. Since he couldn't, he needed someone who would. Instinctively, the submissive beta whined and licked at Joe's jaw before rolling onto his back, exposing his fur-covered belly.

_Sav, it's okay,_ Joe soothed even as he was taking in the bassist's lupine form. Sav's fur was the same shade of brown as his hair, his belly fur a shade lighter, and his blue eyes were the same—human eyes. So that meant Sav was probably a wereling—a werewolf that retained its humanity even in the lupine state. Some purebloods saw werelings as the perfect synthesis between man and wolf, while others thought they weakened the pack. Joe, since he himself wasn't pureblood, didn't care. _Just focus on me, okay? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to bite you._

_Help me,_ Sav pleaded, rolling over so his paws were tucked under him. His 'wolf chanted, _Take us over. Make us _yours.

_You're already mine_, the alpha growled. It reached out to the beta 'wolf, forced the shift.

Sav's sleek werewolf form was smaller than Joe's, but it was just as muscled and, well, beautiful. The alpha was aware of the others watching as the 'wolf body shrunk in on itself, fur shriveled back under pores, bones cracked as they adjusted to human form. Finally Sav was human again, his clothes in tatters. Joe changed back as well, and rested a hand on Sav's shoulder. The newblood, in shock, buried his head where Joe's neck met shoulder, locked his arms around Joe's neck, and kept them there, trembling.

Joe's eyes met Jon's ice-blue ones. "Jon, can you . . .?" He gestured toward his bandmates. "I don't want them remembering this."

"Hey!" Rick protested. Whatever else he was going to say died in his throat when pale-green eyes turned on him. Joe said, "You guys only found out about _my _lycanthropy last night and you've barely handled it. How would you deal with another 'wolf in the band?"

"He's got a point there," Steve mumbled.

Jon asked Joe, "You sure?"

"Yeah."

It was over within a minute. None of the other three Leppards would remember the truth about Joe, and now Sav.

Jon shot Richie a slightly smug look.

"Don't say it," Richie grumbled.

"Oh, but I must. I told you so."

"Yeah, you did. Happy now?"

"Very," Jon said smugly.

"When you two are quite finished," David interrupted, crossing his arms and glaring at his bandmates.

Jon and Richie cracked smiles at each other before Jon said, "We're good."

"Great," Joe said, "'cuz I want to crash back at the hotel. We all do," he added, resting his chin on top of Sav's head for emphasis.

Sav inhaled deeply, taking his alpha's scent into his lungs, then finally lifted his head. "Sleep sounds good right now."

"Fine by me," Tico agreed, a knowing look in his eyes as he studied Sav and Joe.

/*/

In what seemed like minutes (but was really an hour) later, everyone in Def Leppard was in their penthouse condo. Phil, Steve, and Rick were passed out in separate beds, but Sav suddenly found he didn't want to be alone tonight.

He hesitated before climbing into bed. Not wanting to risk waking the others, he reached out to Joe over the pack bond. _Joe?_

_Yeah?_

_I don't want to be alone tonight. Will you—?_

_Sure,_ his alpha replied, maybe a little too quickly, but Sav didn't care. He slipped under the covers and closed his eyes, aware of Joe's warm, muscled body stretching out beside him.

An arm banded across his chest, drew him close, and everything in the newblood went limp.

A small smile curved Joe's lips before he joined Sav in dreamland.


	6. In the Still of the Night: Chapter 3

**Two:**

**In the Still of the Night**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

He was running in lupine form, his alpha matching him stride for stride, step for step, their pelts occasionally brushing. Sav reveled in the strength in his new body as he bounded across the dark, barren landscape. The sky above the two 'wolves was blood-red, with no sun visible. Dead, leafless trees spiraled up from the hard ground, clawing at the bleeding sky.

The fear-scent was strong in his nostrils, exciting his bloodlust. When he and Joe caught up to their prey, they would attack, tearing into warm flesh, feasting on the bloody meat. His 'wolf loved the rush of the hunt, the buzz that came with the kill. Running—hunting—with his alpha: That was the way it was supposed to be . . .

_No!_

Sav's blue eyes snapped open and he bolted upright in bed, his breathing labored, sheets and body soaked with sweat. He wasn't even aware that Joe's arm had slid down from his chest to his lap—but then he was more focused on his dream.

He'd _enjoyed _being 'wolf . . .

Sav groaned and put his head in his hands, jerking up with something sharp pricked his scalp. Glancing at his hands, he saw that his nails had lengthened and sharpened to dagger-like points. Even as he watched, they quickly resumed their normal length and shape.

The bass player quickly checked the rest of his body to see if any other parts of him were changing. Much to his relief, everything else was human. He couldn't help sighing—maybe louder than he meant to, because Joe stirred in his sleep. Only then did Sav realize where Joe's arm had landed. A warm flush crept up the back of his neck and spread to his cheeks. He gently lifted Joe's arm to try to set it beside its owner, but the contact made Joe raise his head, green eyes blinking away sleep. The singer slurred, "What's wrong, Sav?"

"Nothing," he lied. "Go back to sleep."

Joe was suddenly wide awake. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, his green eyes staring straight into Sav's blue ones. "Don't lie to me," he said softly, the hint of a growl in his voice.

Sav couldn't help it: He went submissive, lying back down, exposing his throat and stomach to his alpha. In human form, this was as close to the submissive postures as he could get. When Joe used that tone of voice . . . he was gone, completely under his spell, or whatever mind control this was.

"Tell me what's wrong, Sav." Though the words were spoken quietly, there was no denying that it was an order.

"Nightmare," he whispered. "You were there—"

"Then how can it be a nightmare?"

Sav glared at him before flipping him the bird. "Will you let me finish?"

"Sorry. Go ahead." Was that amusement in his voice? The beta's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he continued anyway.

"We were lupine, running, _hunting. _Joe, whatever it was, I _wanted _to kill it, feast on it." He shuddered. "That's not what I'm like, at all."

"Sav, you're lupine now. Half wolf. And in 'wolf form, the instinct to hunt is natural. Our prey doesn't have to be human; smaller animals will suffice. Or sheep, deer, elk, cattle . . . personally, I love venison. Hate birds, though. The feathers easily get stuck in my teeth."

"And other 'wolves? What do they eat?"

Joe hesitated. "Well, okay, there are quite a few lycanthropes that go after humans. Who do you think the serial killers really are?"

The alpha whispered in Sav's mind, _We are the ancient evil . . ._

Sav shivered, unable to hide the tremor racing up and down his body from Joe when the other werewolf was so close. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Joe was looking far too innocent for Sav's liking.

"Your 'wolf. Are you _trying _to freak me out?"

Joe smiled, his gaze predatory. "You don't need my help for that, beta." Had he leaned in closer? "There is something I need your help for, though. My 'wolf is hungry. _Very _hungry." Was Joe scenting him? "For you." He ducked his head, licked the underside of Sav's jaw. His hand wandered upward, then went to the side, resting on the mattress when he shifted positions so he was partly above Sav.

The beta 'wolf was confused, his mind screaming this was wrong while his body and the animal inside him wanted even more. Joe smelled of warmth, protection, and—God help him—_mate_. Yeah, the human part of him had wanted this on a level of some sort—the effect Joe had on him was evidence of that—but now that the moment was here, Sav wasn't entirely sure _what _he wanted. So he just let go and allowed the wolf to take over.

Joe's warm mouth found his as skin brushed skin. Sav's canines twisted into fangs as the fire burned hot, then hotter, and his fangs sank into Joe's left shoulder. There was a white-hot burst of pleasure/pain when the alpha mirrored the action, but Sav didn't mind. He gasped as Joe's claws trailed down his spine, the skin there incredibly sensitive.

"Mine," Joe growled, his eyes glowing blue.

Sav said something real intelligent, like, "Uh-huh." Truth was, he couldn't think straight. He was so caught up in what Joe was doing to him. He was on fire, his body burning up . . .

The wolf in him quieted when he reached his peak, arching upwards under Joe's hard form. Then he was completely limp, his mind wondering what the heck had just happened.

"I told you my 'wolf wanted you for its mate," Joe said, reading him thoughts. "Looks like it succeeded."

Sav found he couldn't form coherent speech. So he just rested his head on Joe's shoulder, enjoying the heat his body provided.

Submission had never been a word he was comfortable with. It had connotations, connotations like weak, slavish. In actuality, he felt _complete _when Joe was near, but there was no other word for this. And Sav was okay with that.


	7. Bark at the Moon: Chapter 1

**Three:**

**Bark at the Moon**

* * *

**Summary: **

_"A wereling is a silverblood—a resister—whose humanity and compassion prevail in the 'wolf."_

Sav took that to mean that when the change was on him, he could hold on to the screaming human part of him that loathed what he'd become.

* * *

**Chapter One**

"C'mon, Joe!" Rick Savage, better known as Sav, yelled to his bandmate and alpha. "Run!"

Joe Elliott flashed him a dirty look but took off, trying to keep ahead of the rabid fangirls. The rest of Def Leppard—drummer Rick Allen and guitarists Phil Collen and Steve Clark—had decided to be smart and stay behind in the house they were renting. Sav and Joe had wanted to explore the town of Cripple Creek, Colorado, and naturally they were seen by a horde of female fans. Joe couldn't really remember why they were near the gambling town in the first place. Well, they were in the state anyway because they were finishing up a tour in Colorado Springs and Denver—and then they'd been asked to perform at some huge local event in a town called Pueblo. Joe, in a moment of weakness (or so he later claimed) had accepted the invitation. At least the few weeks of waiting gave the band some downtime to relax and have fun. Besides, Colorado was a beautiful state—until you reached the eastern part of it and had left the Rocky Mountains behind. The eastern bit was semi-desert, full of cacti and sagebrush. As Steve had so bluntly put it: "You've seen one sagebrush, you've seen them all." On the bright side, it was full of potential prey for two hungry werewolves.

Sav was finding out one of the perks of being a werewolf right now: their preternatural speed. He'd only been turned two days before, so he was still figuring out how to cope with his new life. Joe, on the other paw, had received the bite when he was very young, so he'd dealt with lycanthropy almost his whole life. He had an advantage that Sav could never have, since he was almost like a pureblood 'wolf.

The alpha and beta 'wolves made it for at least three blocks before Sav pulled Joe around the corner of a brick building. Joe found he was pressed up against the bassist, but he didn't move until he was sure the crowd had thundered past. Even then, it was only to trace his fangs along his mate's throat. Sav's scent filled all of his senses; soon, he felt like they were the only two people alive.

Sav had gone completely still, his breathing ragged. "Joe . . ." The desire coming off him was growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. His eyes were slowly glowing electric-blue, a sign that his 'wolf was close to the surface. Joe wasn't sure why his eyes and Sav's were blue: most of the werewolves he'd met had yellow eyes when they turned. And Sav was a wereling, so he retained his human eyes in the lupine state. The electric-blue only showed when his 'wolf was fighting for control or at the beginning of the transformation.

The singer's only response was a low growl. He nipped lightly at Sav's neck, his fingers slipping under the bassist's shirt to stroke the smooth skin.

Sav's claws slid from their sheaths, digging through clothing into the hard muscles of Joe's back. The human part of him was gone, the 'wolf completely in control. But he was a wereling, wasn't he? So, why—

Joe suddenly stepped back, tension in every line of his body. His features were entirely human, so that alerted Sav right away to the fact something was wrong. The beta asked, "What is it?"

"They're coming," was Joe's cryptic answer.

Sav rolled his eyes. "You know, you're really killing the whole werewolf mystique, here. Who's coming? Fans? Other 'wolves? Some other supernatural creature that I have no idea exists?"

"The fangirls. Now get your 'wolf under control, wereling, or I might have to do it for you."

The bassist grinned. "I wonder how that'll happen."

"Yeah, I bet," Joe growled. He tugged on Sav's jacket, jerking his head in the direction of the street they were now on. "Run, and don't stop until I say so."

"Yes, alpha." Sav was a little annoyed that the traditional answer slipped from his mouth but he bolted anyway. Joe was sprinting along beside him, his hand occasionally brushing his. The singer groaned, "_Why _did we have to become so famous?"

"Would you prefer we be back in Sheffield working in the spoon factory?" Sav shot back. "At least now we're rock stars and get all our chicks for free."

"I think you've been hanging around Jon too much. Watch it, Savage. You're in _my _pack, not his."

"He's not even lupine!"

"Doesn't matter."

They turned left, heading back the way they'd come on the street parallel to the one they'd been on moments before. Sav couldn't hide the grin in his voice when he replied, "I love it when you get territorial on me."

"Shut it, _beta_. Where the bloody hell did we park?"

Sav couldn't have answered even if he'd wanted to: he'd poured on the speed, resisting the urge to run on all fours. Sure, that way was faster, but it just looked weird when he and Joe were in human form. When they turned werewolf, however, it was completely natural, since they resembled real wolves.

It wasn't until they'd made it back to the rental that they allowed themselves to relax. Joe reached out for the steering wheel before he realized there was nothing in front of him but the glove compartment and dashboard. Sav, seated on Joe's left, grinned at him and said, "We're in America." The bassist promptly set the car in reverse and backed out of their parking space, Joe scrabbling for a hold on anything when Sav turned the car sharply and sped out of Cripple Creek as if hellhounds were on their tail. Well, considering _they _could be viewed as hellhounds, it wasn't a very fair analogy. Really, though, if Sav didn't slow down on these windy mountain roads, Joe might very well end up with a broken neck—or at least whiplash.

After another narrow turn, Joe lost it. He snapped, "Blimey, Sav, are you _trying _to kill us?! Who taught you how to drive?!"

"My mum."

"That explains a lot."

Sav's only response was a snarl, and Joe smirked. He liked—okay, enjoyed—teasing Sav like this. Doing so reminded him that he didn't have to be the alpha all the time and it was okay to have fun.

The car's speed dropped from sixty mph to something like thirty miles per hour. Joe relaxed instantly, loosening his death grip on the sides of the leather seat. In doing so, he realized his claws had gouged holes in the leather.

_Not one scratch, _he remembered Phil saying. _Oops._

Sav snickered. Clearly, the beta had heard him through their bond.

"Just shut up and drive."

"Got it."

.

Forty-five minutes later Sav pulled up at the house the band was renting. Joe's ears were ringing from all the rock songs he'd heard on the radio during the drive, ranging from Heart to Poison to Journey, the Scorpions, Queen, and even his own band, Def Leppard. It was a little scary how "Talk Dirty to Me" was so much like "Pour Some Sugar on Me," or maybe "Armageddon It."

"I still think Poison and Bon Jovi copied us," Joe grumbled as he exited the car.

"So do I," Sav said, "but what can we do about that? 'Sides, Jon's a friend."

"Have I ever told you that I hate it when you're right?"

"Only all the time. What are we doing standing around here for? It's freezing!" Sav started walking toward the front door. The singer watched him for a moment, and then followed the beta, deciding it was best not to point out it was only sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

When they entered, they found the rest of the band waiting for them in the living room. That was rarely a good sign.

Phil was sitting on the couch, messing with something in his hands. Without looking up, he asked, "How'd it go?"

"Fine, until we were spotted by a whole crowd of teenage girls," Joe replied.

Steve, over in the kitchen drinking a bottle of Jack, choked on the drink when he started laughing. Rick pounded him hard on the back until he recovered. The guitarist gasped out, "Thanks, mate."

"No problem," the drummer said.

A small smile curled at Phil's mouth. "I can imagine how that went. Let me guess: You decided on Run Like Hell."

"Uh-huh."

Phil still didn't look up from the Rubik's cube as he asked casually, "So, how long have you and Sav been shagging each other?"

This time Steve's drink spewed over the kitchen counter. Joe sensed Sav's flash of panic through their empathy link. He sent the beta a silent command to calm down. The singer said, "What are you talking about?"

"We heard the two of you a couple nights ago at the hotel. Don't even try denying it, Joe."

Joe had to remind himself that Jon had wiped his bandmates' minds so that they knew nothing of his and Sav's lycanthropic conditions. Even so, he curled his hands into fist to try and hide his claws. When he unfurled them, they were normal—and thank goodness for that, because he did not want to have to explain the whole lycanthropy thing to his bandmates for a second time. They hadn't handled it very well on the first go-round. So he admitted, "We haven't been for long. What's it to you, Phil?"

"Just worried, that's all."

"And curious," Steve called from the kitchen.

Sav smirked, coming up behind Joe and resting his head on the alpha's shoulder. "You do realize how that ended for the cat, don't you?"

"Oh, bugger off, Sav," Phil grumbled.

"Gladly." Sav tugged gently at Joe's earlobe with his teeth; the alpha had to suppress a groan of desire. Why did Sav have to tease him like this? Well, Joe teased the beta all the time, so he figured this was some sort of payback. Then Sav was gone, while Steve, Phil, and Rick were staring at him with their mouths hanging open.

The 'wolf met their gazes innocently. "What?"

.

A gentle breeze swept across the countryside, rustling the leaves in the aspen trees. Silver moonlight illuminated two figures—one stocky and blonde, one lean and brunette—as they walked across the fields. The moon was no longer full, but Joe and Sav could still feel its influence. Sav was actually looking feverish. His skin was pale and clammy, and when Joe felt his forehead, it was very warm.

"Joe, why do I feel so ill? It's not even the full moon," Sav whined.

"Your body's probably still fighting the 'wolf infection. It's a common reaction in newbloods—even more common in werelings."

"What _is _a wereling?" Sav asked. "You've called me that before, but I don't know what it means."

"They're very rare," Joe informed him, quoting from some ancient text. "A wereling is a silverblood—a resister—whose humanity and compassion prevail in the 'wolf."

Sav took that to mean that when the change was on him, he could hold on to the screaming human part of him that loathed what he'd become.

Joe wasn't quite finished. "Pureblood hardliners see them as a threat to the pack, while others see werelings as the perfect synthesis between man and wolf. Personally, I don't give a damn. All my 'wolf cares about is that you're pack and my mate."

"Right. Can we run through the whole mate thing again? I'm still not sure I follow."

"It's fairly self-explanatory, don't you think?"

"Uh, well—"

"Oh, just shut up," Joe growled. Then his mouth was covering Sav's, and the beta's mind went blank. His alpha filled his senses: touch, sight, smell, taste, even hearing (he could hear Joe's heartbeat, his breathing).

Joe's mouth left his to trace his jawline, then taste his neck. A small groan escaped Sav as he tilted his head back to grant the singer better access. The groan turned into a growl of need when Joe added his tongue to the mix, and his hips jerked forward reflexively.

"Please, Joe . . ." Was that his voice sounding so raw and desperate?

Suddenly Joe pulled away from him, leaving a hot, sweaty, sticky mess of a bassist behind. Glancing back over his shoulder at Sav, he began to run.

And as he ran, he changed.

The transformation was quicker than normal—or at least, it took Joe far less time to shift than Sav did—and in Joe's place was a large wolf with glowing blue eyes and golden fur.

_C'mon, Sav_, Joe said using thought-speak. _Run with me._

"Do I have to?"

_Don't make me force you to shift. If I do, it'll be extremely painful. Neither of us wants that_.

"Good point."

Joe's upper lip crinkled in a silent 'wolf laugh.

"Shut up."

The 'wolf's teeth were soon covered. When he was sure it was safe, Sav called on his 'wolf, now enjoying the heady mix of pleasure and pain that came with the transformation. He was sure that after shifting a few more times, caught in its addictive thrall, he would find it hard to remember his reasons for resistance.

_Why fight? _the alpha 'wolf said in his head. _You're pack, my mate._

_I know, _Sav's 'wolf growled. 'Course, with it being a submissive beta, he averted his eyes. In 'wolf form—or even human form—looking Joe in the eyes just felt _wrong_, as if he was challenging the alpha. And to be honest, he _liked _when Joe's 'wolf crept inside him like that, _owning _him, forcing him to obey. Maybe it was the fact the pack mentality was stronger in the lupine state, but—

_Sav, you coming?_

_Wha—? Oh, yeah. Sorry._ The beta padded forward, surprised at how natural the four-legged gait was. This was only the second time he'd shifted since he'd been turned, so he had a lot to learn.

Joe took off at a lope and Sav, not wanting his alpha to leave him, followed. Then Joe was gone from sight, having veered off into the trees. Confused, Sav skidded to a halt, sniffing the air for his alpha's scent.

The next thing he knew, something heavy had bowled him over. Sav yelped, startled, and tried to heave himself to his paws. Only then did he realize that Joe was the thing that had attacked him.

_What are you doing?_ he snarled, hackles raised.

_Playing. What's it look like?_

_Oh, well, in that case . . ._ Sav pounced, teasingly, lightly. They rolled, jostled, nipped playfully at each other. The beta 'wolf was vaguely aware that Joe was herding him back to the house, but he didn't care.

Next thing he knew, his human self had gained dominance over the 'wolf. Glancing over at Joe, Sav saw that the singer had shifted back as well.

"C'mon," Joe said softly, resting a hand on Sav's shoulder. "Let's head inside. You need some sleep."

Suddenly, the bassist was barely able to keep his eyes open. It took everything he had just to step inside the doorway. Of course, he collapsed right afterward, barely aware of the fact that Joe had caught him. He was already asleep—shifting at will took a lot out of him.

"Easy there," Joe murmured, slinging Sav over his shoulder in the fireman's carry. The bassist was surprisingly light, or maybe he just seemed that way because of the strength Joe's 'wolf gave him. In any case, Sav was out cold when Joe carried him upstairs to their room, laid him on the bed. Considering they lost most of their clothes when they transformed, there wasn't much to take off of the bassist. Both of them would have to find new shoes and clothes, but that was for the morning.

Without really thinking about it, Joe slid in next to Sav. He was finding it hard to believe how he could have resisted this at first, of giving in to his feelings and letting the 'wolf have its way. Holding Sav close felt so natural, and maybe it was the wildness in him that made him feel like this, but Joe didn't mind, not really. He knew Sav was _his _anchor, but he was worried on what Sav's would be. If he didn't have control over his 'wolf on Change Nights—even if he was a wereling—he would probably try to escape and kill someone. Joe might not be able to stop him if that happened, although he was the pack leader.

In an effort to clear his mind, he breathed in Sav's scent. His breathing gradually slowed, deepened . . . and it was as if someone had flipped a switch and turned the world off.

Apparently, even alphas needed sleep.


	8. Bark at the Moon: Chapter 2

**Three:**

**Bark at the Moon**

* * *

**Notes: **

Partly inspired by DKD's fic "Gravity" over on Rockfic and the songs "All Night" and "Pour Some Sugar on Me". There's also smut. :)

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Sav woke with a start, wondering what had caused him to wake up in the first place. He was inside the house, in his room, in bed.

_How did I get here? _he wondered. The last thing he remembered was shifting back from the 'wolf, and Joe . . .

Where was Joe, anyway?

Sav turned over, only to find the singer was _right in his face._

"Yaahh!" he yelped, scrabbling backwards. His efforts just caused him to land unceremoniously on the floor, taking several layers of sheets with him. (Why they were staying in Vail during the autumn season—hence the layers of sheets—he wasn't entirely sure, nor could he remember who had suggested the ski resort town in the first place.) The resulting crash had Joe's eyes snapping open, his facial features and fingernails wolfed out. Joe leaned over the side of the bed, saw Sav, and his features returned to normal.

"Blimey, Sav, were you scared _that _badly?"

Sav just glared at him, eyes flashing bright blue. He was on his feet in an instant, crawling back into bed. "Maybe. What time is it, anyway?"

Joe looked at the glowing red numbers on the digital alarm clock and groaned. "The hour of the wolf."

"Translation?"

"Three in the morning."

"Oh, great. Well, I guess since both of us are awake, there's no use in going back to sleep."

"And what do you suggest we do, huh?"

Sav just smirked and gave him the once-over, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"No. Get your mind out of the gutter, Elliott."

"It's a bit late for that." A corner of Joe's mouth quirked upward. "My mind's always in the gutter."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised." Sav started to say something else, but the hungry look in Joe's eyes stopped him. "Uh, Joe?"

That was all he could say before the singer was kissing him—with tongue. Joe's weight pressed him down on the mattress, and Sav, submissive beta that he was, went with the gentle pressure, his hands trailing down Joe's sides, then resting on his back, claws unsheathed.

Joe pulled back from the kiss enough for Sav to see that his alpha's eyes were phosphorescent-blue. He couldn't tell if any other features were wolfing out, because Joe was nuzzling at his neck even while those skilled hands of his were exploring the bassist's lean frame. Then Joe's head went lower, lower . . .

_Ohmigod! _Sav arched upward, a low, needy whine spilling from his throat.

Joe's now-blue eyes, flickering from the color of his 'wolf to their natural green, glanced upwards from the apex of Sav's thighs. "You like that, huh?" he rasped, voice low and ragged.

Did he? Yeah, if it was a girl, but . . . With Joe, it was different. Sav's 'wolf knew the singer as _pack, belonging, mate, Alpha_ while the human half of him wasn't sure how to define their relationship. Not that he should be thinking about this nowhe'd just earn a headache. So Sav licked his lips and said the first word that came to mind: "Yeah."

Then Joe was rising above him, his face inches away from Sav's. "I don't want to do this _to _you, Sav, I want to do it _with _you." Wasn't the bassist the one who had suggested this anyway?

The beta's only response was a low growl right before he flipped their positions. Now Joe was the one underneath him, green eyes grazed with lust, and Sav's own eyes were completely lupine.

Time dissolved into sensations: skin on skin; heavy breathing; the mingled smells of sweat, desire, and 'wolf as both their lupines came out to play. Sav, when they'd switched positions, yelped in surprise at one point. The yelp quickly became an actual howl, cut off when Joe slapped his hand over the bassist's mouth. Both werewolves froze, listening hard to see if any of their bandmates had woken up. Sure, the Terror Twins were in their own room downstairs and Rick was a few doors down across the hall, but it was unknown what stage of sleep they were in: light, REM, or deep. If the guys were in the easily-awakened stage, Joe and Sav were dead meat.

"I think we're safe," Joe whispered after the silence had stretched into a minute.

Sav responded by flicking out his tongue to taste the skin on Joe's palm. Of course, the singer, startled, snatched his hand back.

"What'd ya do that for?"

The grin Sav gave Joe rivaled that of the Cheshire cat. "Couldn't resist." His canines itched as they lengthened, sharpened. Wiry, coarse hairs pushed against Sav's skin as Joe's 'wolf took over. Claws dug into him, drew blood, but Sav barely noticed: the darkness in him was answering the call of Joe's sweat, his saliva, his hands on his body.

Footsteps sounded outside in the hallway, stopping just outside the door. Both newblood and alpha dove off the bed and slunk into shadowy corners. Sav's darker pelt would help him hide; Joe's lighter coat gave him a disadvantage. And if the door opened, how would they explain in the morning that there were two wolves in their room while they had apparently vanished?

Sav swore inside his head, muscles tense, ready to pounce on whoever opened the door.

Easy, Sav, Joe said, but his voice was tense.

The bassist's hackles rose and he bared his fangs. He knew Joe was on the opposite side of the room and could probably stop him if he tried anything. So he forced himself to stay still.

Seconds slowly ticked by. The footsteps started up again, heading toward the bathroom. Neither werewolf relaxed until the door to Rick's bedroom clicked shut. Then they both shifted back, Sav's skin itching like crazy as the hairs in his pelt burrowed back under. His pelvis and spine cracked like a gunshot as they clicked into an upright position. When he was completely in human form, Sav shuddered. Demorphing always creeped him out, no matter how many times he did it. The 'wolf change was a whole other story.

Joe climbed back into bed; Sav instantly joined him without the alpha saying a word. The mood from earlier was broken, and right now, Sav just wanted to sleep. He wasn't sure if Joe would let him, though: the singer was so incredibly dominant that Sav couldn't fight him. Even when he'd been human and Joe was as human as he could ever be there was no denying the singer. Now that their more bestial natures were involved, though . . .

He was Joe's slave.

And he was so messed up, because he wouldn't want it any other way.

It wasn't like Sav was never dominant. Whenever they were onstage playing their songs and he was surrounded by _weak prey hunt **kill **_humans, it felt good, _natural_ even, that their eyes were on both him and Joe. And that was definitely his wolf talking, but Sav didn't care. He didn't like struggling to contain his 'wolf side, but there were times he wondered how he'd stood being human for so long when he now had all this power. The bassist could understand how Joe felt during their concerts, when he was struggling to keep control on Change Nights—he'd even witnessed it firsthand.

Speaking of Change Nights, how would he keep control, even if he was a wereling? Sav knew he was Joe's anchor, but . . .

"Shut up and go to sleep," Joe grumbled. "Your mind's running so fast it's giving me a headache—and 'wolves don't even _get _headaches! Or any other illness, come to think of it, unless it's wolfsbane poisoning."

"Wolfsbane? I thought it was silver."

"Nope. We spread that around ourselves to make humans think reaching for the shotgun was a waste of time. Hunters are the only ones who know about wolfsbane."

"Hunters?"

Joe growled into his pillow. "I'll tell you in the morning. Now shut up and let me sleep."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then: "Joe?"

"Oh, what have I ever done to you?" Joe whined to nobody in particular. "_WHAT_?"

"I can't sleep."

"So you decide to keep me up? Why are you this bloody annoying all of a sudden?"

"Like I told you: I can't sleep. Besides, it _is _morning, so maybe you can tell me about the hunters."

"No. You're only just adjusting to being lupine. 'Course, the fact we're in a highly successful rock band doesn't help much."

"But—"

Joe snarled and rolled over so he was above Sav, bared fangs centimeters away from the newblood's throat. "I'm not letting anyone near you, or close enough to hurt you. As far as hunters are concerned, they suspect I'm the only 'wolf in the band. Get it?"

Sav nodded, the intensity in Joe's voice, expression, and eyes scaring him a little. "Got it."

"Good. Since you're obviously not going to let me sleep—for the second time tonight, I might add—now what?"

Sav smirked. _"Pour some sugar on me—ooh, in the name of love. Pour some sugar on me—c'mon, fire me up. Pour your sugar on me—ooh, I can't get enough," _he sang softly. _"I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah."_

Joe glared. "You did not just quote one of our own songs back at me."

"I think I did."

"If you say anything else—"

"Like what?" Sav's smirk had morphed into a wicked grin. "_Do you take sugar, one lump or two? Take a bottle, shake it up—"_

The singer growled a "shut up" right before his mouth covered Sav's. Just like that, the bassist's human mind was gone even as his body was going up in flames. As far as being silenced went, this was probably the best way.

His wolf agreed, lost in the contentment of being _warm, safe, pack, **mate**_. And Sav found there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be.


	9. Bark at the Moon: Chapter 3

**Three:**

**Bark at the Moon**

* * *

**Notes: **

For the record, I totally blame the way Joe sounds in "All Night" for this chapter. I blame the whole song, actually. :)

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Joe ran his tongue along the taut skin from Sav's navel to his sternum, enjoying the mewls the beta was making. It wasn't often they had a chance to do this, so he relished every second.

"God, Joe," Sav hissed, his claws raking across the singer's back. "You're a tease, you know that?"

Joe could feel himself starting to shift, but he held it back. His lips curved into a smile against Sav's burning skin, heated from both arousal and the fact a werewolf's body temperature was higher than a human's. One of his hands brushed against the flat nipples, and Sav groaned.

"What do you want, Sav?" Joe rasped. His voice dropped into a low, edgy growl as he ordered, "Tell me what you want." All the while, the singer was licking and nuzzling his way up Sav's body, lingering at the bassist's neck, tasting the underline of Sav's jaw.

"More," Sav gasped out. His breathing was coming in pants, and he writhed underneath Joe's muscled, hard form. The beta's hips jerked upward, met Joe's, and the alpha drew in a sharp intake of breath.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong! _His mind screamed even as his 'wolf howled for more, urged the human half of him to take what was his.

Sav's hot, hard length brushed against him again. Before Joe could stop himself, his canines twisted into fangs and sank deep into the hollow where Sav's neck met shoulder. The bassist cried out, bucking and twisting, and each movement sent licks of flame curling around Joe's abdomen, the fire burning hot, then hotter.

Joe lifted his head from Sav's neck, swept his tongue across the pinpricks. The 'wolf in him loved seeing Sav like this, so wanton and needy. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be _inside _his beta—and that scared him.

A shudder raced through Sav's body, and then Joe was looking up into the other 'wolf's face.

"Sav, what are you—"

The newblood smirked at him before ducking his head, nuzzling into the musky heat between Joe's legs. A muttered curse slipped out and Joe dug his fingers into the muscles of Sav's shoulder blades.

A _huh _was Sav's only response. "Yea, Joe?"

"I like that." Was that really his voice? It couldn't be: he normally didn't sound like a porn star. Well, "Action! Not Words" could be about a film . . .

_Oh, can it, Joe!_

He felt Sav's lips curl into a smile, as if he knew what Joe was thinking. Then again, he probably did. In any case, the flash of irritation didn't matter for long: Sav was busy putting his mouth and fingers to good use. For once, Joe stopped fighting his 'wolf and gave in to the sensations flooding him. Once he did, it felt as if he were being burned alive. His green eyes were 'wolf-blue, and when Sav lifted his head, Joe could see the glow of the bassist's own lupine.

"Jesus, Sav."

"Funny, I didn't know lycans believed in Him."

The singer snarled and scissored his legs, flipping the two of them over so he was on top again. "I don't know about other 'wolves, but I do." His mouth was covering Sav's then, even as his body pressed fully against that of the bassist.

"Give it to me," Sav gasped out when the need for oxygen forced the two to separate.

"Not yet." Joe's fingers had found a sensitive spot and were gently applying pressure, teasing, testing to see just how far he could push the other 'wolf. He was so lost in his explorations that he didn't hear the faint scrape of wood against carpet that signaled the door was opening. Nor did he scent the intruders. It wasn't until Sav went completely still under him that he realized they had company.

Joe knew who it was even before he'd twisted his head around, just from the way Sav's eyes widened and his pulse quickened—and not in the way he wanted it to quicken.

"Do you two have a death wish or something?" he growled at the Terror Twins, who were standing shell-shocked. Steve actually still looked half-asleep, even if he was using Phil to support himself and horrified realization was written all over his face.

"Uh, well . . . um . . . we were . . ." Phil stammered.

Joe's low growl cut him off. "Seen enough, have you?"

"I think I'm dreaming," the former Girl guitarist said faintly. "Somebody pinch me."

Steve obliged.

"Ow!"

"Well, you're not dreaming," Steve slurred, voice thick with sleep.

Phil promptly flipped his fellow Terror Twin off.

If ever there was a time when Joe loved being an alpha werewolf, now was it. "Yes, you are," he murmured in the tone of voice that had Sav's lupine baring its throat and belly. "You're going back downstairs to your room and forgetting you saw anything." The singer's inner beast stretched out toward the Terror Twins, much like it had with Sav four nights ago, imposing its will on Phil and Steve. As if in a daze, the two left the room, the door swinging shut behind them of its own accord.

Joe looked back to Sav, only to find the bassist was smirking slightly.

"What?"

Now the bassist was shaking with silent laughter. "The looks on their faces, that's all. Too bad we couldn't take a picture."

Whoever said laughter was contagious sure was right: Joe was soon chuckling as well. "Yeah, too bad. Now, where were we?"

Soon, for both werewolves, the rest of the band was far away.

On another planet, even.


	10. Bark at the Moon: Chapter 4

**Three:**

**Bark at the Moon**

* * *

**Notes: **

In my defense, for the first half of this chapter . . . *Gibbs-slaps JoeMuse* He made me do it!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

When Joe next opened his eyes, golden sunlight dappled the walls and carpet. He groaned and rolled over to find another warm body was occupying his bed. Sav was still asleep, one arm lying across his eyes, the other draped over his chest. For a few seconds, Joe was mesmerized by the way the bassist's rib cage rose and fell from his deep breathing. Then his pale-green eyes traveled to Sav's Adam's apple and carotid artery. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he propped himself up on one elbow to give himself a better view. He could hear Sav's heartbeat, smell the delicious copper-scented blood flowing beneath the skin . . .

Joe pulled back as if he'd been burned. He still found it hard sometimes to control the 'wolf bloodlust even after years of being a lycanthrope. When he was younger he'd run with a pack of purebloods that had taught him how to control his wolf side—but he, like Sav, had been bitten. Teaching a 'wolf who was made and not born took time—and right now, that wasn't a luxury Sav had. Joe wasn't even sure how he would be able to mentor the beta when their bandmates were in the same house with them nearly twenty-four/seven.

Speaking of Sav . . .

Images of last night ran through his mind, and Joe groaned. He needed a cold shower, like, _right now_.

.

Okay, so the water wasn't freezing cold, but the heat felt wonderful. Def Leppard's lead vocalist gradually became aware he was humming the intro to a Scorpions single, but he didn't care. Then the vocals kicked in: _"It's early morning, the sun comes out. Last night was shaking and pretty loud. My cat is purring, it scratches my skin. So what is wrong with another sin? The bitch is hungry, she needs to tell, so give her inches and feed her well. More days to come, new places to go. I've got to leave, it's time for a show._

_"Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Here I am, rock you like a hurricane."_

Joe sensed Sav stirring through their pack-bond but didn't think much of it. By now he was rinsing the lathered shampoo out of his soaking hair. When he was sure the shampoo was completely out, he reached for the bottle of conditioner and set about with the next step of bodily hygiene. He was still singing "Rock You Like a Hurricane" under his breath, though he was fairly certain Sav was the only one able to hear him: the bathroom he was currently using was just off their room.

_"My body is burning, it starts to shout. Desire's coming, it breaks out loud. Lust is in cages 'til storm breaks loose. Just have to make it with someone I choose."_

Sav had silently entered the loo and was just leaning against the wall, but since Joe had his eyes closed and he still smelled like the bassist, he didn't even notice.

_"The night is calling, I have to go. The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's licking his lips, he's ready to win. On the hunt tonight for love at first sting._

_"Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Are you ready, ready, ready, ready? Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Rock you like a hurricane!"_

Then it was on to the guitar solo . . . and body wash.

Sav, watching Joe's blurred outline in the shower, grinned and shook his head. There was so much blackmail material here it wasn't even funny. He'd probably be arrested for voyeurism later, but he didn't care. The bassist's eyes glowed turquoise as his enhanced vision took over, washing everything in infrared. Yeah, he was definitely enjoying the view.

_"It's early morning, the sun comes out," _Joe sang softly. _"Last night was shaking and pretty loud. My cat is purring, it scratched my skin. So what is wrong with another sin?_

_"The night is calling, I have to go. The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's lickin' his lips, he's ready to win. On the hunt tonight for love at first sting._

_"Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Are you ready, ready, ready? Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Well, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on. Here I am, rock you like a hurricane. Here I am!"_

The water ran for a few more seconds, then shut off. Sav reached for one of the towels, ready to hand it to Joe when he slid open the glass door.

"Thanks," Joe said automatically as he accepted the towel. Then he realized exactly how the towel had come to be in his hands and his gaze found Sav. His cheeks flushed crimson. "How much of that did you hear?"

Sav's grin was deliberately wicked. "All of it. I didn't mind the view either. And I must say"—here, he broke into song—"last night was shaking and pretty loud. My cat is purring, it scratched my skin. So what is wrong with another sin?"

Joe groaned. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Never."

.

Minutes later, both lupines were dressed for the day in jeans and T-shirts and were heading downstairs. When they reached the kitchen, the Terror Twins and Thunder God were already at the table wolfing down food (no pun intended). Sav and Joe hesitated before stepping over the threshold into the room, Sav deferring to his lower rank in the pack by staying just behind the singer.

"How'd you sleep, Phil?" Joe asked casually, sitting down beside the guitarist. Sav took a seat right next to Steve, and the Terror Twins were instantly boxed in. The subliminal message was clear: Try to run, and we _will _stop you.

"Fine," Phil replied tersely, his body tensing. Both werewolves knew he was lying: his heartbeat stuttered over that one word.

Joe leaned in closer. "You're sure?"

"I didn't," Steve said bluntly before Phil could answer. "We kept hearing noises."

"Noises," Sav repeated, trying hard not to look at Joe.

"Noises?" Rick asked, bewildered, as he looked up from his breakfast.

"Noises," Steve confirmed. "Phil here wanted to go investigate"—he ignored the dirty look the smaller guitarist flashed at him—"so he dragged me out of bed—thanks for interrupting a perfectly good dream, by the way—"

"You're welcome."

"—and when we went upstairs to look . . . well, I'm now scarred for life."

The other three Lepps just stared at him for a moment. Joe broke the silence by saying, "I think that's the most we've ever heard you say at one time, Steve."

"Oh, shut up," Steve grumbled, starting to push his chair back from the table. His escape route was blocked by Sav's arm, which had shot out to grasp the back of Steve's chair. Clark looked at the bassist in confusion, who smiled slightly and shook his head. "Nuh-uh. We're not done yet." Was he imagining it, or were Sav's canines longer than normal? Steve blinked, and the illusion was gone.

"We're not?" Phil questioned.

The expression on Joe's face was suddenly feral; and Phil, Steve, and Rick were instantly uneasy. Joe backed up Sav, saying, "We're not. Now, what _kind _of noises did you hear, eh?"

"Since when are you Canadian, Joe?" Sav cracked.

The alpha werewolf's response was a raised, stiff middle finger. "Shut it, Sav."

A corner of Sav's mouth quirked upward in a half-smile. "You really think that's going to work?"

Joe's enhanced vision took over for a millisecond as he stared the bassist down; the beta turned his head away. Sav mumbled, "I guess it will."

"Why do you want to know what kind of noises we heard?" Phil asked Joe. "It doesn't really matter, does it, since Steve and I accidentally walked in on you shagging Sav."

Steve shuddered. "Thanks for reminding me, Phil. Too bad it wasn't a dream."

"_You're _the one who pinched _me_!"

"All I said was _you _weren't dreamin'. I never said anythin' 'bout me. 'Sides, if I recall right, I was still half asleep."

"Lucky you," Phil muttered.

"Nah, 'twas Sav and Joe who got lucky."

"True."

Rick almost choked on a piece of toast. "Wait, let me get this straight: You two"-he pointed at the Terror Twins—"heard weird noises, went to check it out, and walked in on those two"—he pointed at Sav and Joe—"doing the deed?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," Phil answered.

Rick suddenly looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I think I _did_ hear a howl."

The two lupines in the band exchanged nervous glances. Joe said, "A howl?"

"Yeah, sounded like a wolf."

"I don't know if you've noticed," Sav interjected sarcastically, "but we're in the Colorado Rockies. There's bound to be wolves."

"Wolves have been extinct in Colorado for quite some time, actually," Steve corrected. When his bandmates stared at him, he shrugged. "I like canines, so what? Shoot me."

"Seriously?"

Steve smacked Phil upside the head. "'Course not, you idiot!"

"So what was it, then?" Rick mused.

Phil shrugged. "You said it sounded like a wolf . . . so maybe it was a werewolf."

Panic flashed across Joe's empathy link. In the next second, the chair Sav had formerly occupied was empty and in danger of falling over. Joe was soon on his heels. He caught up with Sav at the top of the stairs, reached out to touch his shoulder.

The beta whirled around, eyes glowing. "They know," he hissed.

"No, they don't," Joe reassured him. "Phil was joking; besides, Jon wiped their memories. _They don't know about us_, Sav. They _can't_." The singer hand both arms on either side of the bassist boxing him in, having backed him up against the wall. Joe's eyes glowed turquoise, watching Sav's face intently. "Relax, Sav. Listen to me: _They. Don't. Know."_

A rattling breath was Sav's only response. "You're sure?"

There was a split-second hesitation before Joe replied with "yes." It wasn't long at all, but it was enough for Sav's temper to flare. He growled angrily; bared his fangs; and lunged forward, aiming for Joe's throat.

Joe reacted instantly, stepping back and to the side. His hand shot out, grabbed Sav by the collar of his T-shirt. The alpha easily lifted the beta as if he weighed nothing at all, snarling his fury at the inferior 'wolf's attack. Challenging an alpha was just _not _done. In larger packs, a challenge was a fight to the death. That aside, Sav was his _mate_, and this just felt _wrong_. But with both their wolves in control, there was no way Joe was allowing this to go unpunished. The alpha 'wolf slammed the beta down on the floor, snarled his victory.

Sav, facial features wolfed out, snarled and bucked, desperately trying to get his feet under him. "Let me up, Joe!"

Joe put his face close to Sav's, eyes glowing dangerously, fangs jutting out, claws pricking the bassist's skin. "No."

"The others probably heard us. Do you _want_ them coming up here? I sure don't." Sav was starting to change back from the partial shift; gradually Joe loosened his hold on the bassist's shirt. The singer's 'wolf retreated back into the shadows, leaving his features wholly human—or as human as he ever was, anyway.

"Sorry, Sav, but I had to."

The bassist snorted. "Your 'wolf is one _scary _mother—"

"Don't even go there. And watch what you call my 'wolf."

Sav smirked. "What was that you were singing earlier? Oh, yeah: _The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's licking his lips, he's ready to win. On the hunt tonight for love at first sting._

_"Here I am, rock you like a—"_

"Sav?" Joe interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."


	11. Lunatic

**Four:**

**Lunatic**

* * *

**Summary: **_Sav couldn't believe he hadn't figured out Joe's secret before. Now that he knew it, upon looking back there were several signs that he had missed: Joe's darker mood during the days of the full moon, the times he would snap and growl at various band members, and the way he could just appear silently out of nowhere._

Sav helps Joe through a full moon.

**Notes: **Inspired by the Season 1 Teen Wolf episode "Lunatic"and "Waiting" by cbassluv in the _Teen Wolf_ fandom. While my other stories in this 'verse take place in '87, this story takes place in 1982. Feel free to slide up and down the months as you wish, but it's before the guys replaced Pete with Phil, like probably a few days before.

* * *

**_Lunatic_**

Sav couldn't believe he hadn't figured out Joe's secret before. Now that he knew it, upon looking back there were several signs that he had missed: Joe's darker mood during the days of the full moon, the times he would snap and growl at various band members, and the way he could just appear silently out of nowhere. Sav, Steve, Pete, or Rick (depending on who was in the room) would subsequently jump a foot in the air, yelp, and drop whatever they were holding, much to Joe's obvious amusement. The bassist never found it funny and told Joe as such on multiple occasions—not that it did any good.

Currently, Sav was eyeing the singer warily. The band was in the recording studio trying to work on yet another song for the _Pyromania _album . . . and tonight just happened to be the full moon—a Change Night, as Joe called it. As far as Sav knew, he was the only member of Def Leppard who knew their lead singer was a lycanthrope, shapeshifter, werewolf, whatever you wanted to call it. To be frank, knowing Joe's secret scared him half to death. The first time he'd seen Joe in 'wolf form, the lycanthrope had tried to kill him. He'd had nightmares for weeks afterward.

Now, in the studio, Sav flinched when he caught Joe looking in his direction, pale-green eyes darkening to emerald. Not surprising, considering Sav _had _been eyeing the singer carefully.

Then Joe was walking over to him, sitting down in the chair next to the bassist. He asked, "How's it coming?"

"Still can't quite get the riff for 'Foolin''."

"You'll get it." Joe paused, shifted his weight. "Why're you watching me, Sav?"

"You know why," he murmured, nervously picking at the strings of his bass. "You tried to kill me."

"I'm not normally like that when I shift, Sav."

The bassist smiled a little. "Yeah, well, I guess it's your time of the month, isn't it." It was more of a statement than a question.

"That's not funny, Sav."

"Really? I thought it was hilarious."

"You don't want to be making jokes like that, not when I'm feeling like this." The 'wolf's eyes flared turquoise. "Don't push me, Savage."

"Sorry," he said quickly.

The door to the studio opened and Mutt Lange, their producer, stuck his head in: "Everything okay in here?"

Sav glanced at Joe only to find his bandmate's face was expressionless. He replied, "We're fine, Mutt."

"You're sure?"

Joe nodded and waved his hand in a "go away" fashion. Mutt's expression clouded over; but he backed out anyway, shutting the door behind him.

Sav, once he was sure that Mutt was gone, studied his friend. "Are you sure you're all right, mate?"

"No." The singer's voice was rough, with a gravelly undertone. It was almost like he was trying not to growl. "I can't concentrate. All this noise, everyone's emotions, _my _emotions, my senses . . . The full moon turns 'em up to ten."

"That's—"

"It sucks."

Sav chuckled a little. Joe could make him so amused . . . and flustered . . . and confused with some of his comments.

Joe glared. "It's. _Not. Funny_."

Sav's small smile faded. "I know. Sorry. So, what do you say we go somewhere else, eh?"

The werewolf frowned. "Huh?"

Joe's best mate rolled his eyes. "As in, take off, do some sightseeing, have fun. Maybe find you a girl."

_Now _Joe looked interested. His voice, though, was dead serious: "I don't need a girl."

"Then what _do _you need?"

"Food."

"What kind of food?"

"It must be blood," Joe said in a low voice. Sav looked queasy as he continued, "It must be fresh."

"Joe, that's disgusting."

The singer merely grinned. "I'm just messin' with ya. Haven't you ever seen _Little Shop of Horrors_?"

"In Sheffield? You must be joking." Sav wanted to punch him for the fresh blood comment. That _really _hadn't been funny, and—

"Hey, you made a werewolf joke."

"_Little Shop _quote, but close enough. And of course I didn't mean Sheffield. I meant like in London or something."

"So I take it you wanna ditch," Sav remarked after a moment's thought.

"Hell yeah," Joe said with a smile.

...

A very short time later, both of them were wondering if leaving the studio without telling Mutt was such a great idea after all. Joe flinched at the sound of every passing car and twisted his head around to track it with his gaze.

"If you start chasing cars," Sav warned, "I'm not coming after you."

Joe looked offended. "Werewolves don't chase cars. We're not dogs."

"I'm sure some people would beg to differ."

"That's a horrible pun."

Sav grinned. "Was it? I hadn't noticed."

Joe growled, and Sav could see budding canines. The bassist gulped and frantically cast his mind around for a change of topic. As he did so, he caught sight of a couple broads out of the corner of his eye. From what he could see of the brief glimpse, they were in torn, faded blue jeans; T-shirts, white with some sort of logo; jackets; scuffed shoes, probably tennis shoes; and _lots _of hair. Sav immediately altered course to further check the girls out, leaving Joe to walk on for a few more strides before he realized the bassist was no longer with him. Puzzled, he stopped, looked around, saw Sav was homing in on a couple of birds, and was soon on his bandmate's six.

The two girls were talking to each other but stopped when Joe and Sav were within earshot. One of them, a blonde, gave the boys elevator eyes before asking, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Joe bristled. Everyone in the band looked young for their age—Rick was actually twenty yet he looked sixteen—and they knew it. He said shortly, "We were done with school years ago. We're in a band, actually."

The other girl, this one with black hair, gave an odd little gasp. "I thought you looked familiar! You're from Def Leppard, aren't you?"

Joe couldn't help noticing that the blonde was rolling her eyes and shaking her head slightly, almost as if she were saying, _Now you've done it. _The singer exchanged glances with the bassist, whose facial expression made it clear he was trying not to laugh. Clearly, Sav wasn't going to be much help. So the lupine answered, "Yeah, we are." _Funny, I didn't think we were that big in the U.K. Not quite sure why we're more popular in the U.S., though._

"Don't encourage her," the blonde muttered. "Please. Some of us _want _to stay sane."

"You're sure about that?" Sav murmured under his breath. The raven-haired girl's friend slapped her palm to her own forehead as her friend squealed in excitement, muttering, "I _told _you not to encourage her."

This time neither Leppard made an attempt to hide his amusement. Both Sav and Joe were grinning so broadly they thought their faces would split open. Now that Joe had a closer look at both girls, he could see they really _were _pretty, with a nice bit of meat on their bones. His gaze darkened, his mouth watered, and . . . oh no.

Sav's fingertips grazed the back of his hand, and Joe quickly curled his fingers into his palms, hoping to God that the girls hadn't seen his claws. When he unfurled them a couple heartbeats later, they were human, much to his relief. However, despite the warm weather, he was growing even hotter—and his body temperature was higher than a human's anyway.

He couldn't shift, not yet, it was too soon.

Somehow he choked out a, "See you later, yeah?" Then he was gone, turning the corner.

Sav shot both girls an apologetic look and hurried after his friend. Joe, hearing footsteps behind him, whipped around in a fighting stance. He relaxed when he saw it was just Sav, but the wary look never left his green eyes.

"You okay, mate?" Sav asked.

Joe tried to slow his breathing, gritted his teeth. The heat in his skin dissipated; the danger of him shifting was fading—for now. His throat was dry; he cleared it before replying, "Yeah. I'm okay now."

There was a pause. Then Sav asked, "So, d'you think she liked me?"

"Which one?"

"The blonde. Clearly, that black-haired chick was drooling over you."

A hint of the wolf crept into Joe's eyes, and the dark smirk was so uncharacteristic of him, so _not _Joe, that Sav was starting to freak out a little. Upon seeing the bassist's nervous expression, Joe's smirk widened as even more of the wolf slid into his green eyes. Since one-half of his face was now in shadow, the overall effect was downright creepy, if not evil. Joe murmured, "Yes, she was, wasn't she?" His 'wolf, remembering the shapely, muscular, female body, licked its lips hungrily; his human self mirrored the action.

He snapped out of it when he realized Sav was staring at him. The bassist said, "Uh, Joe?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you _sure _you're all right? You sort of had a serial killer thing going on for a moment there."

Joe glanced away and found he was looking in the direction where the two girls were. He retorted, "Bite me."

"If I did, it wouldn't do anything. And I wasn't seriously considering it, but if you want . . ." There was a grain of laughter in Sav's voice.

"Shut it, you wanker."

Sav merely grinned.

...

When the two Lepps finally returned to the studio, they found Mutt was waiting for them—and he looked pissed.

"Where were you?" he demanded as soon as Joe and Sav entered the building. "Steve, Rick, and Pete had no idea where you were when I asked them, and we wasted God knows how much time looking for you! If either of you pull a disappearing stunt like that again—"

"Joe couldn't concentrate on anything, Mutt," Sav jumped in, knowing how weak it sounded. He didn't care. "I was just trying to help."

"I wonder how he did that," came Steve's voice from behind Mutt. Muffled laughter issued from Pete and Rick.

"Shut it, you lot," Joe snarled. A bolt of satisfaction hit him when he heard strangled gulps. The satisfaction shriveled and died as Joe forced himself to meet Mutt's eyes.

"That true?" the producer asked.

"Sav and I just went out for a bit. I haven't been feeling well lately and the thought the fresh air would do me some good."

"Bet that's not all he got," Pete muttered.

Joe growled quietly, trying not to let the full sub-vocalization come through. His entire body tensed; right now, he wanted nothing more than to tear into warm flesh.

A hand slipped into his. Glancing down, Joe saw that the hand belonged to Sav. Gradually the bloodlust faded, and he looked up to see Mutt's gaze on his and Sav's joined hands. The werewolf, a warm flush creeping up the back of his neck, gave Sav's hand a quick squeeze.

The bassist's hand retreated into his jeans pocket.

"It won't happen again, Mutt," Joe heard himself say. That was the closest he could say in way of an apology, since the producer had a thing about apologizing being a sign of weakness. So did the Duke, if Joe was remembering correctly: Never say you're sorry, it's a sign of weakness.

"Yeah, it will," Mutt said. "I know you guys."

Sav's lips curled upward at that. "Sure do. Now, if you're done chewing us out, we have—"

"Work to do," Mutt finished.

"I was going to say better things to do, but 'work' works, too."

Joe mentally groaned. _Now is not the time to get mouthy, Sav, _he thought. _Especially not when I'm so unpredictable_. Even though he wasn't forced to shift until the moon reached its zenith, his animalistic urges were stronger during the day and in the hours before the transformation. He murmured, "Don't get mouthy, Sav."

"You're one to talk," the bassist shot back quietly.

Mutt's eyes narrowed. "What was that?"

"Nothing," werewolf and human said quickly.

The producer sighed. "Well, it doesn't look like we're going to get much done today anyway. You guys might as well go home."

That was all the encouragement Joe and Sav needed.

...

It was around nine-thirty at night, and Joe was in his room in the house the band was renting, sitting on the bed and strumming an acoustic guitar. He was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and not much else—his clothes usually shredded during the 'wolf change. The rest of the band was out on the town, hitting the clubs—except for Sav. He had gone out to the store to buy a few . . . _necessities._

Suddenly tired of the guitar, Joe hopped off the bed and set said instrument in its case. He slid the case under the bed, turned off the light, and collapsed into a plush, comfortable armchair tucked in the corner closest to the window.

A short time later, Sav appeared in the doorway. The bassist flipped on the light-switch, walked into the room, and tossed the black duffel bag onto the bed. Its springs protested loudly, but it didn't look like Sav cared.

Then he noticed Joe, hidden in the shadows, and jumped. "Whoa! Give a guy some warning next time, will ya?"

Joe said nothing.

Sav reached for the duffel and began to unzip it. From where he was sitting, the lupine could easily hear the _clank _of meal striking metal. Joe dug his fingernails into the arms of the chair, struggling with his wolf's urge to launch himself at his bandmate and tear him apart.

"I found these," Sav said as he began to take a heavy chain out of the bag. "I thought we could— Hey, Joe, would you stop looking at me like that, mate? You have that serial killer look going on again, and it's freaking me out."

"Did you really think I would let you put these on me?" Joe asked, voice low, as he pawed at the metal links, held them up. "Chain me up like a dog." The contempt in his voice was clear. The chains slid through his fingers and landed heavily on the floor. "I'm not a dog, Sav."

"Okay, so, no chains. I get it. D'you want anything? Water?"

"I—"

"Be right back." Sav disappeared and was back two minutes later carrying a bowl and bottled water. _Joe _was written on the side of the bowl in black Sharpie.

His eyes holding Joe's, Sav tipped the bottle and filled the white, plastic doggie bowl almost to the brim, tossing the water bottle back over his shoulder when it was empty.

Joe's upper lip curled in a silent snarl. "Really, Sav? I'm _not _an animal!"

"I'm sure some girls would say differently. And Joe, considering the way you're acting right now, I wouldn't be saying that."

The serial-killer mood in Joe's eyes faded, only to be replaced by a sly look. "You want it, don't you?"

Sav blinked, thrown off for a second. "What?"

"The Bite," Joe said, as if it were obvious. He was rising from the chair, stalking toward the bassist in a half-crouch, ready to spring at any moment.

Sav shook his head: "I don't want it."

Joe cocked his head, listening closely. "Did you hear that? Your heartbeat stuttered over the words _I don't want._ You may think you're telling the truth now, but you'll want it eventually."

"Joe," Sav tried again, "listen to me: _ I don't want _the Bite."

"Liar!" Joe yelled, lunging toward his bandmate. Sav, caught by surprise, crashed to the floor with one very out-of-control werewolf on top of him.

"You know you want it," Joe growled in Sav's ear, voice dangerously husky. The innuendo didn't go unnoticed by the bassist, who bucked his hips and writhed under the singer in a desperate attempt to free himself. Sav tried to reassure himself with the knowledge that Joe, _his _Joe, wasn't here right now, that this was the 'wolf talking.

It didn't work. Struggling wasn't doing him any favors either: Joe was too strong. (Almost involuntarily, a line of "Let It Go" rang in Sav's head: _Slow down, hold on. You're too fast, too strong_.)

Then Sav's fingers brushed against the chain link on the floor. He snatched it up, wrapped it around Joe's leg, and managed to tie and lock the rest of it to the radiator, Joe fighting him all the while.

Realizing he was caught, Joe yanked at the chains on his leg. When they didn't give, he glared up at Sav, eyes flaring turquoise. "What are you doing?" he roared

The bassist, who had used Joe's momentary distraction to escape, now kept a safe distance as he studied the lupine. "It's for your own good, Joe."

Joe growled, the sound more animal than human, and tugged at the chains again—not that it helped any. "Let. Me._OUT_!"

Sav shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't. You could hurt or kill someone."

Joe struggled once more, the serial-killer look back in his eyes saying he _wanted _to murder someone—preferably Sav. Said bandmate was smart enough to stay on the opposite side of the bed, a safe distance away from the angry werewolf.

This was the first time Sav was properly able to observe the transformation process, since Joe always went off on his own during the full moon. Was that a werewolf thing? Sav mused. He'd ask later, after this whole ordeal was over. As in there were two more nights . . . was it only just one night? The bassist was beginning to have a headache with these thoughts, so he racked his brain for something else to think or talk about.

"Distract me," Joe's voice broke into his stupor.

"What?" Sav blinked a couple times.

"Distract me," Joe repeated. "Take my mind of these . . . chains." He stared at the chains in disgust, clearly not forgetting how they'd come to be on his hands and feet. His breathing slowed, then at times would hitch and speed up until he was panting, as if the animal in him had found itself caged with no way to escape. Sav wasn't sure how long this went on. It was almost as if Joe was in werewolf labor, he mused. The bassist thought this was a great metaphor; however, something told him that Joe wouldn't appreciate it. So he kept quiet.

"Sav?"

"Hhmm?"

"You're not doing a very good job of distracting me." It came out as a warning.

"Can you imagine what the others would think if they walked in on us right now?" It was the first thing that came to Sav's mind, and his eyes widened. _Did he really just say that out loud?_

A chuckle came from the chained form. Joe, hisJoe, looked up. "They'd probably think we're doing some kinky bondage thing. You're not into that, are ya?"

"What?" Sav stared for a moment, his mind blank for a second. Then the implication clicked. "No!"

"Okay, okay." The tone of Joe's voice made it clear he was laughing. "No need to be so defensive. But with me tied up like this, what else is there to think?"

"I don't do role-play," was Sav's brilliant comeback. His mind was still hung-up on the bondage comment. "Or BDSM."

It was creepy how the wolf would flash into Joe's eyes. His lip would quirk upward in an uncharacteristic smirk, and his lengthened nails picked absently at his T-shirt. One eyebrow would also raise, disappearing into Joe's mop of dirty-blonde hair. A brooding expression would come over his face as he glared at Sav, probably fantasizing how much he would enjoy hurting him, tearing him apart. Sav found it disturbing, how obvious the change was.

Then, for shorter lengths of time, the brooding expression and _smirk _would vanish; Joe stopped shredding his shirt; his chest heaved with pants again, like he found he was somewhere he didn't want to be and had no way to get out.

"Why are you here?" Joe asked suddenly, jerking Sav out of his observations. "I could easily hurt you, you know."

"You haven't, though," Sav said. It was a bit of a realization for him.

"Maybe you want me to." Joe's voice was low, dark, sending shivers down Sav's spine. "Maybe you'd enjoy it."

Dealing with this side of the singer was terrifying, even if it was only for a few hours. Sav was already tired and they'd been like this for maybe forty-five to fifty minutes. Was it even possible to have whiplash from someone else's emotions? Sav wondered. Because seriously, this was freaky. It was like there were two different people inhabiting Joe's body. Sav had heard of multiple personality disorder, but it wasn't quite the same thing with werewolves, he supposed.

Presently, Sav shook his head. "You know I wouldn't."

"Yeah," the chained 'wolf said quietly, and it sounded like the Joe Sav knew. "Who would want this for themselves?"

"Pete maybe?" Sav suggested, shrugging.

Joe glanced up again, a dimple creasing his cheek as he smiled. "Yeah, but he's drunk half the time and an idiot."

"Mmm," Sav murmured agreement. It wasn't that he didn't like Pete—he did—but he didn't like slamming a bandmate. "He's not going to last much longer, is he?"

Joe gave a loud sigh. "I don't think so. We've given him too many chances already." The chains around his wrists and ankles clinked as he shifted his weight restlessly. Then he smirked and glanced up at Sav. "BDSM, huh?"

"Shut up," Sav said mildly over Joe's snort of laughter. The singer, when he'd recovered, said, "You know, I'm an alpha."

"Huh?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "The dominant 'wolf in the pack."

"Oh." Then it dawned on Sav what the singer was saying. "_Oohhh_." Both of them were bright red, but neither cared.

"Can you turn off the light?" Joe asked suddenly.

"Wha—? Oh, yeah." Sav flipped off the overhead light switch, leaving the room illuminated only by the outside streetlights and the full moon. Still cautious, he perched on the far corner of the bed. "How did you become a werewolf?"

"I had the Bite when I was about six—completely by accident on my part."

"No, I meant the very first werewolf. Was the first one bitten or something?"

That _smirk_, the one that scared Sav so much, was back on Joe's face. "No. We're descended from Lycaon. How much of Greek mythology do you remember?"

"Really, Joe?" Sav gave him an are-you-kidding-me look.

"Okay. Well, Lycaon was a king of Arcadia in Ancient Greece who killed his sons and fed them to Zeus in a soup to see if he was really the King of the Gods. Zeus, when he found out he'd been eating human flesh, turned Lycaon into a wolf as punishment. They call lupines lycanthropes, named after him, the first werewolf. Now there are pureblood lupines—whole families with a nice clear line—and newbloods, or 'wolves who are recently bitten. And yes, any one of us can turn a human. Rank in a pack has nothing to do with it."

"And the full moon?" Sav dared to ask.

"It's only full for actually one night but appears full for two more days. So technically the forced transformation is only one night a month but I'm more susceptible to its influence the other two days. I can also shift at will; the reason the full moon's associated with us the most is 'cuz it's the 'wolf Sabbath. Night helps, true, but it's not necessary."

"Mmm." Sav was busy processing all this.

Suddenly Joe made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a snarl and jerked his whole body, trying to free himself. Sav instantly scrambled across the bed to try and help, lost his balance, and toppled off, landing on top of the thrashing werewolf—completely by accident, of course.

"Joe, what are you doing?"

"Someone's coming," the 'wolf hissed. "Untie me!"

Sav pretended to consider it. "No."

Joe growled. "Sav, please. Just do it!"

A familiar voice sounded from the doorway: "What's going on in here?"

Beneath Sav, Joe stiffened, his breathing shallow.

"Nothing, Pete," Sav heard himself say.

Pete took a few more steps into the room, pausing when Joe snapped, "Get out of here!"

"Joe? You all right?" Pete shuffled closer. "Why are you in chains, mate?"

Sav was definitely worried by now, Joe could tell. The 'wolf's breathing was labored, his T-shirt soaked in sweat. His vision turned scarlet, eyes glowing like beacons in the dark room. Outside the window, the round, silver moon—_my moon_—inched closer. _Good moon._

_ Shut up,_ he told his 'wolf.

"Get out," Joe ordered Pete in a low voice. "_Now_." His body was burning, and he could feel his canines lengthening into fangs. "Sav, you might want to get off me now."

"Hhm? Oh, right." The bassist scrambled off him, taking what remained of the singer's shirt with him.

"Will someone tell me what the bloody 'ell is goin' on here?" Pete snapped, some of the drunken slur disappearing from his speech.

"I don't really know how to tell you this," Sav began awkwardly, "but Joe's a werewolf."

"Oh." Pete was silent for a moment. "Makes more sense than the two of you makin' a film, I guess. We could 'ear you all the way downstairs—I think. Mostly Joe yellin'."

Joe snarled a little at Sav's smirk. "Beat it." Already he was starting to shake, unable to hold off the transformation any longer.

Pete, seeing his friend's features begin to morph, booked it. Sav followed at a more leisurely pace, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Soon, all that had been human for Joe was consumed by 'wolf.

...

Hours later, the gray light of dawn weakly filtered in through the window. Sav opened the door to Joe's bedroom and silently slipped inside.

Joe, shirtless and in human form, was slumped against the radiator, asleep. He stirred, then lifted his head, blinking away the foggy haze. Something clenched in Sav's gut when he saw the skin on Joe's wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, but he dismissed it.

"See," the bassist quipped, "this is why you need me to stay human. I"—he dug something out of his pocket—"have the key."

"You're the one who chained me up in the first place," Joe mumbled. "Now untie me already. I'm starving."

Sav smiled to himself as he crouched down and began to unlock the chains. It was good to know that some things never changed.


	12. Close to Midnight

**Five:**

"**Close to Midnight"**

* * *

**Summary: **The guys are in Pueblo, Colorado, for the local GhostWalk thing we have in October. (Yeah, I live near Pueblo so naturally I have them going from place-to-place in my homestate.) Phil's trying to figure out exactly what's going on with Joe and Sav . . . and need I say MJ's "Thriller" is involved? ;)

* * *

Phil wasn't stupid.

He knew there was something going on with Joe and Sav—and it wasn't just the fact they were sleeping together. Considering his own relationship with Steve, he was the last one who should be complaining.

It was strange, though. Joe had always been the straightest man in the band—Casanova. Lady killer. Then he was suddenly jumping Sav's bones. Okay, yeah, Sav _did _look a bit feminine, but still, it wasn't the Joe Phil knew. Sure, he'd noticed the little touches and looks on Sav's end—especially when they were filming the videos for "Women" and "Pour Some Sugar on Me"—but . . .

Then there was the dynamic between the singer and bassist. Whenever they were in the same room, Sav would be a little ways behind Joe, like he was Joe's inferior. Phil had never thought of Sav as submissive—after all, the bass player was the owner of the band of sorts—and yet here he was _submitting _to Joe.

In fact, Phil was almost sure Joe had told the rest of Def Leppard—he included—_why _this was, but the more he thought about it, the more it slipped from his mind. It was irritating to say the least.

The lead guitarist was thinking about all this while they were on the road heading down to Pueblo, Colorado. They had been in the state for a few weeks as part of a tour with Bon Jovi—the Lepps promoting _Hysteria_ and Jovi promoting _Slippery When Wet_—and Joe had agreed for Def Leppard to attend something called a GhostWalk in Pueblo. (He'd later claimed it was in a moment of weakness, but his bandmates hadn't believed him.) To top it all off, today happened to be October 31st, also known as Halloween, All Hallow's Eve, or Samhain. The holiday had originated in the Lepps' native UK, but Phil didn't know much more than that.

"Are we there yet?" asked Rick from the backseat, jolting Phil out of his thoughts.

"I don't think so," Phil replied, turning his head so he was looking at the drummer. "We've only been on the road for a couple hours. I think Vail is only four hours away from Pueblo."

"We left from Denver, remember? So we should be coming up to Pueblo right about . . . now." That was Sav. The bassist was busy flipping through radio channels, stopping on one for a few measures before moving on to another—and it was driving his bandmates insane.

"Will you quit changing stations, Sav?" Joe finally snapped. "It's driving us crazy!"

The bassist stopped station hopping—_finally_. However, the song was Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

"Not this song again," Steve muttered, startling Phil. He'd thought his fellow Terror Twin was asleep. Apparently not.

"So, are we in Pueblo yet?" Rick asked again.

"Yeah," Joe said, slamming on the brake in time for a red light. All five Leppards were thrown forward, caught by the seat belts. They were then subsequently thrown back against their seats, thanks to whiplash.

"Hey, Joe," Sav said, "why'd you agree to do this again? I mean, none of our songs are all that terrifying."

"It was a moment of weakness!"

"Yeah, right," the other four chorused sarcastically.

"Well, the bird who asked was very easy on the eyes . . ."

Phil could have sworn he heard a low growl coming from Sav—one that sounded canine. But that was crazy. He must have been hearing things. Right?

"Where is this GhostWalk thing anyway?" he asked, trying to keep his mind off any strange behavior coming from the two men up front.

"Downtown by the Riverwalk," Joe answered. "Starts at seven, I think. Where's the bloody map?"

There was the sound of rustling papers as Sav dug through the glove compartment. He pulled out an atlas and rifled through it. "It's on Riverwalk Avenue, appropriately enough."

"So how do we get there?" Joe's voice was tense.

With Sav taking on the role of navigator, they were downtown and parking the van in ten minutes. A glance at the clock on the dashboard showed it was 5:30 p.m.

"Anybody else think we've been in this state way longer than we need to be?" Phil commented as the band spilled out into the streets.

Nobody answered, and ironically, this gave him the answer.

"Well, we have an hour or so to kill," Joe finally said. "What d'ya say we meet back here at six-thirty?"

The rest of the band made various noises of agreement and split up: Joe paired with Sav, and Rick going with the Terror Twins.

"So," Joe said to Sav, "where do you want to go?"

"I think I see a bookstore that looks promising," the bassist answered, already heading in the direction of aforementioned store. Joe smiled a little, shook his head, and followed. Like him, Sav was a werewolf—Joe had accidentally turned him backstage after a concert with Bon Jovi up in Denver. It was Richie's fault, really. If he hadn't kept teasing him about his relationship with Sav . . .

Anyway, instead of turning into a full-blown werewolf like Joe, Sav had become a wereling—a werewolf with enough humanity to temper the 'wolf nature when in the lupine state. During Change Nights—full moon nights—Joe needed an anchor to keep his 'wolf in check. His just happened to be Sav. Since the bassist was a wereling, Joe didn't know if Sav needed an anchor for when the moon was full. The problem with werelings was that, since they were so rare, regular werewolves—purebloods included—didn't know that much about them.

"Hey, Joe, come look at this," Sav said, jolting the singer out of his thoughts. The bassist was holding a little black book, reading the back cover.

"What is it?" Joe asked, coming up behind Sav so he could read over his shoulder. He briefly wondered when they had entered the small bookstore—he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings (a stupid thing for an alpha such as himself to do)—but he shook the thought off.

"A collection of horror stories by Edgar Allan Poe," Sav replied.

Joe frowned. "Who?"

"He's an American author. He practically created the horror genre. Were you not paying attention in American Lit?"

"Not really," he admitted sheepishly. Hoping to distract the bassist, he asked, "What stories are in there?"

Sav's eyes scanned the back cover. "'The Black Cat,' 'The Fall of the House of Usher,' 'The Masque of the Red Death,' 'Murders on the Rue Morgue,' 'Cask of Amontillado'—"

"I think I've read that one," Joe interrupted.

Sav rolled his eyes and continued, "'The Tell-Tale Heart,' and 'Letters in Red.'"

"'The Tell-Tale Heart' is the one where there's a chopped-up body under the floorboards, right?"

"Yeah. Looks like you _did _learn something in school, Elliott," Sav teased.

"Watch it, Savage," Joe warned mildly. Now he, too, was browsing along the books on display. He picked up a paperback on Southwestern legends with the words "La Llorona" on the cover in big black letters. It was accompanied by a picture of a striking raven-haired woman walking along a river, her mouth open in a plaintive cry. She sort of reminded Joe of a banshee—not that he'd ever met one. Curious, he went to the table of contents, saw the starting page of the _La Llorona _legend, and flipped to the corresponding page. After reading, he commented, "Well, that's creepy."

"What's creepy?" Sav asked, wandering over to the singer.

"This _La Llorona _legend," Joe said. "This Latina married a rich guy, bore him two kids, and found out a few years later that he was seeing another, younger, woman on the sly. In a fit of murderous rage, she drowned her two kids in the river, realized what she had done, tried to save them, committed suicide when she was failed, and wasn't allowed into Heaven. So now she's doomed to wander by the river searching for her lost kids, sometimes snatch young children or misbehaving tykes."

"Okay, that's slightly creepy," Sav admitted. "What's _La Llorona _translate to, anyway?"

"According to this, it means 'The Wailing Woman' or 'The Weeping Woman,'" Joe said, briefly consulting the book.

"Y'think they're gonna have her at this GhostWalk tonight?"

"Probably." Joe paused. "Y'know," he said, a sly look in his green eyes, "we could pull our own trick for Samhain."

"As in scaring our bandmates?"

Joe nodded.

Sav considered the idea, shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

A wicked grin spread across Joe's face, and turquoise spun in his green eyes for a split second. Sav's own lips twitched in an answering smirk.

This was going to be fun.

...

Night came early to Colorado in the fall; by six-thirty, the sun was sinking behind the Rocky Mountain range. The band had arranged for their instruments—except Joe's, of course—to be dropped off earlier, and now they were performing a quick sound check, not to mention figuring out what songs they were going to play.

"We could do 'Billy's got a Gun,' I guess," Sav suggested. "That one's a bit creepy if you think about it."

"We could also do a few covers," Phil threw in, twisting the tuning key for the D string on one of his Jacksons. He flashed a sly look at Joe. "How do you feel about Ozzy?"

"Osbourne?" Joe scowled at Phil's nod. "Well, 'Bark at the Moon' I would probably do. Other than that . . . No."

"'Mack the Knife' is a good song," said Sav.

Rick frowned. "Isn't that a jazz tune?"

"Yeah," the bassist admitted, "but it's about a serial killer." A thoughtful look crawled over his face as he looked at the lead singer. "What about 'Werewolves of London'?"

Joe gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. Sav just smirked, showing a tiny bit of fang.

Steve glanced up from where he was sitting on the stone steps fiddling with his Les Gibson. "Dare I mention 'Thriller'?" He was wincing as he said it.

"God no," the other four Lepps said in unison. Joe went one step further: "We're not a pop band. Besides, how would you recreate _that_?"

"Good point," Phil admitted. "Where's Mutt when you need him?" he added jokingly, referring to their producer.

"At home," Sav said with a smile. Phil had to do a double-take to make sure the bassist's canines weren't _really _pointed. When he looked again, Sav's teeth looked the way they always had. (That didn't exactly reassure him.)

"What about 'Die Hard the Hunter' or 'Too Late'?" Rick suggested.

"That could work," Joe said thoughtfully. "What's that one Pink Floyd song . . . ?"

"Which one?" Phil asked. "Almost all of their songs are in a minor key, Joe."

"It's on _Dark Side of the Moon. _Or was it from _The Wall_?"

"Hum a few bars," Sav suggested. "Maybe we'll catch it."

"_We don't need no education,_" Joe sang. "_We don't need no thought control. . . . Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone_."

"That'd be 'Another Brick in the Wall' off _The Wall_, Joe," said Phil. "It's protesting Britain's education system by the way."

"You would know that, Phil," said Steve, a smile twitching at his lips, "considering you're the trivia buff in this band."

"Shut it, Steve," Phil retorted mildly. His fingers started playing a riff that was instantly familiar to his mates.

Joe cocked an eyebrow. "'Barracuda,' Phil? Heart?"

"Hey, their early stuff isn't all that much different from Led Zeppelin. They're really good, actually."

Joe shrugged. "Fair enough. What d'you say we stop messing around and try performing something for once?"

Sav's grin made him resemble the Cheshire cat. "Joe, since when are we _not _messing around?"

The singer opened his mouth to argue, thought it over, and closed his mouth again. There simply was no argument for that one.

_Mwahahahahaha,_ he heard Sav cackle inside his head over their pack-bond.

_Seriously, Sav? That's the best you've got for an evil laugh?_

_Maybe._ Sav's thought-speak voice took on a mischievous tone. _I've been practicing. Why, you want to hear it again?_

_No! It's . . . disturbing, somehow. How about this:_ Never _do that again._

_Or else what?_

_Who said there was an "or else" attached?_

_It was implied._

_I don't suppose saying, "You're grounded" would work._

_Nope. And can't you come up with something better than that?_

_Okay, then. How about me tying you up for the night?_

_Kinky,_ Sav commented. _You_ know _I'm not into BDSM, Joe!_

_Sav, would it kill you to get your mind out of the gutter for once?_

_Probably. Well, where you're concerned at least._

Silence.

_Why, I do believe I've made Joe Elliott speechless._

_S-shut up._

...

An hour later, they had finished performing and decided to attach themselves to a tour group. In addition to being on the Riverwalk, this GhostWalk thing was spread around the historic sites in the Steel City. What with the band being tourists, technically, they had no idea what these historic sites were. (Well, the Union Depot downtown was pretty cool. So was Mineral Palace Park, not to mention City Park.) Along the way, they'd met a 1920s flapper; _La Llorona_, the Weeping Woman; John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist religion; Loving, of the Goodnight-Loving Trail; and a few others whose names Phil was forgetting. The _La Llorona _legend had creeped him out a little, to be honest, and wasn't it just their luck that they were walking through a cemetery right now. Phil couldn't help noticing with growing apprehension that the group had gotten further away from him while he'd paused to look at the engravings on a cluster of headstones—and his bandmates were nowhere to be seen.

_It's close to midnight, and something evil's lurking in the dark.  
__Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart . . ._

Peering through the darkness, Phil thought he could make out two familiar shapes: one tall and broad, the other lithe and lean. He called out, "Joe, Sav, is that you?"

The dark shapes came closer, and Phil relaxed when he saw that, yes, it was the singer and bassist.

"Hey, Phil," Joe said with a smile, showing pointed teeth. "Nice night, isn't it?"

The guitarist gulped, shifted his gaze to Sav. Said bass player smirked, his already-blue eyes suddenly phosphorescent.

Phil's mouth was dry. He swallowed hard, hoping to retrieve some saliva. No such luck.

"What's wrong, Phil?" Sav asked, reaching out with a clawed hand. "Scared?"

"We don't bite," Joe added. His features twisted into something feral as his eyes, too, glowed turquoise. "Much."

Phil stepped back, out of Sav's reach, and tripped over a tiny headstone. He sprawled heavily on the grass on his back; the impact knocked the breath out of him.

_Sorry, _he apologized silently to the corpse whose resting place he'd disturbed. As he lay trying to catch his breath, he couldn't help watching Sav and Joe in horror as his bandmates' features began to twist and fracture.

_You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it.  
__You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes.  
__You're paralyzed._

A scream bubbled up in his throat, but terror snatched the air from his lungs before he could give voice to it. What escaped instead was a low moan. Even as Phil stared at the nightmare creatures before him, a part of his mind was saying that this wasn't real, that any moment he would wake up in the tour bus. Because really, he couldn't believe otherwise:

Joe and Sav were werewolves.

And it looked like he was their next meal.

_Cause this is thriller, thriller night,  
__And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike._

_Ah, hell no_, a part of Phil's brain thought. He snapped out of the paralysis, scrabbled backward, managed to lurch to his feet, and _ran_.

The air filled with ferocious snarls as the two 'wolves lunged after him.

_You know it's thriller, thriller night.  
__You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight. Yeah. Oooh._

Phil ran blindly, weaving and (in some cases) leaping over and around the grave markers. Somehow—he wasn't sure how—he ended up near a road. With a mental shrug, he turned left. Behind him, he sensed that Sav and Joe had split up in order to pursue him: He could no longer hear two sets of paw-steps, just the one. Glancing back, he saw a flash of brown fur.

_Geez, Sav, what have I ever done to you?_

Almost as if he'd heard Phil's thought, Sav snapped his jaws at the empty air, teeth _snick_-ing together. The sound forced Phil to pour on the speed. Somehow, he ended up at Mineral Palace Park.

He'd always been in decent shape, but that little run had left him winded.

_I need to start running more, _he thought, panting, leaning heavily against a tree.

Muffled paw-steps shuffled closer. Slowly, Phil turned, a low terrified sound in his throat when he saw Sav—still in 'wolf form—was only meters away, teeth bared in a literally wolfish grin.

Where was Joe?

Suddenly, as if the thought had called him up, the golden werewolf came slinking out of the shadows to join Sav. Now that the two of them were up close, Phil could see a subtle difference: Sav's eyes were his regular shade of blue, not glowing; Joe's green eyes were a searing turquoise and glowed in the dark. Sav's 'wolf form was smaller compared to Joe's, and it didn't look like he had the same amount of power that Joe's lupine form possessed.

_I'm dead, _Phil thought, eyeing Joe as the singer swept his tongue across his muzzle.

_You hear the door slam and realize there's nowhere left to run.  
__You feel the cold hand, and you wonder if you'll ever see the sun._

A car door in the distance slammed shut. Instinctively the two lupine yelped and shied away, startled by the loud noise.

Phil seized the momentary distraction and took off again, heading for the path leading around the fenced-in pond. The asphalt path in between the pond and the fence that separated the park from Highway 50 was so narrow and cracked that the guitarist hoped it would hinder the werewolves on his tail. Unfortunately, his night vision was only that of any normal human, and there were some potentially fatal cracks in the asphalt, thanks to thick tree roots.

A wave of cold cascaded through Phil as he tripped over one of those roots and his body toppled forward. He caught himself before he landed completely on the ground, his position that of a sprinter set in the starting blocks. From there it was easy to push up and keep going.

Unfortunately, as none of the three Leppards knew the area very well, Phil took a left turn a hair too early and earned a concussion when he hit a telephone pole. All he could see for a second was a pair of glowing eyes, hulking shapes.

Then everything went black.

...

When he next opened his eyes, he was on the moving tour bus . . . and being shaken by a worried-looking Joe and Sav.

"Stay away from me!" he yelped, scrabbling back and wincing when his head hit the wooden headboard of the bunk bed.

"You were having a nightmare, Phil," Joe said, eyebrows knitting together as he puzzled out the guitarist's reaction. "Relax. You're on the bus."

"We left Denver hours ago and are heading to Minnesota," Sav added. The bassist stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his haunches, studying Phil. "Must've been some dream for you to lash out at us like that."

Joe mirrored Sav's position, his fingers resting lightly on the bass player's jean-clad thigh. Phil decided not to comment. The blonde singer said, "I'm guessing we were in it."

"Yeah. You could say that." His voice was dry and slightly sarcastic. "The two of you were werewolves trying to eat me."

Sav and Joe exchanged glances, lips twitching, before they busted out laughing.

"Werewolves," Sav choked. "Yeah, right."

"You must have Samhain on the brain, Phil," said Joe.

At their reaction, the guitarist released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." For some reason, all tension in his body had drained away.

The two men facing him grinned. For a split second, Phil thought he saw fangs and a flash of turquoise in their eyes.

No, he had to be imagining it.

Right?


	13. Hunter's Moon

**Six:**

"**Hunter's Moon"**

* * *

**Summary: **Joe and Sav face Sav's second full moon.

**Notes: **I think this is my first fanfiction mention of Peter Mensch. *shakes head* In this fic, I almost feel sorry for him. I figured this was decent enough for posting, so . . . Partly inspired by _The Wereling: Book One: Wounded_ by Stephen Cole. As for the title, the full moon in November is called the Hunter's Moon.

* * *

The moon, bright and fat, is blinding to his sensitive eyes as it hovers outside the window. Sav, sweaty and pale, glares up at it and gives it the finger before pushing back the covers.

He's so, so hot . . .

He groans, bites his lip. The change is very near, maddeningly so. Why won't it come?

He nearly howls with frustration. There's an itch consuming him from the inside out and he has no way to scratch it. It's dizzying, maddening, and he closes his eyes against the rush.

When he opens them, the moon seems incandescent, like it has caught fire. To his lupine eyes, it is washed in blood.

He wonders briefly where Joe has gone before remembering that the alpha is out on the hunt. Sav's nails dig into his palms, draw blood.

Now he knows: The change will happen tonight.

Sav laughs feverishly as he feels his bones begin to burn and crack. His nails thicken and lengthen into claws; blood seeps from his gums as his teeth twist into spikes; his jaws and nose push out into a muzzle as his ears, pointy and furred, travel up the sides of his head. The bass player in Def Leppard shucks off his boxers, rolls over onto all fours, tensing the muscles in his legs and abdomen to will the transformation on faster. Silken hair worms from every pore even as his muscles acquire lupine strength. The bright blue color spinning through his eyes at the start of the change has faded, leaving them their own shade of deep blue.

He jumps down off the bed, heart beating sure and strong. This room means nothing to him anyway. All he owns is the night world and everything in it.

Wait. He pauses, sniffs at the air. Yes, there is food here—lots of it.

And he's hungry.

_Very_ hungry.

Sav pads on silent paws out of the room and down the hallway, following the smell of live meat. One door is slightly open, and he noses it open even further, already salivating. He's so close . . .

His prey is wrapped in soft sheets, but that doesn't bother him—one ankle is sticking out far enough for him to lightly clamp his teeth on the skin. He tightens his hold, then jerks back, hobbling his prey. It lets out a startled yelp as it lands on the floor, eyes snapping open only to widen in horror as the wereling goes for its throat.

Blood coats his muzzle, pools stickily around his paws as he feeds. A noise makes him look up only to see his victim's mate. Sav bares his fangs, hackles rising, and lunges, his only thought to protect his kill.

Prey often squeal; this one is no exception, though its cries are cut short.

Before he begins to feed upon this one as well, he raises his head and howls his exultant thanks to the moon. . . .

.

The strangled cry tore out of Sav as he snapped out of the dream and lurched into a sitting position. His chest heaved; his sheets and skin were soaked with sweat. Face pale, he glanced out the window at the nearly-full moon before flipping it off. It was the moon's fault he was feeling like this. Well, not exactly.

Sav looked down to see Joe, still asleep, lying on his side of their bed. The singer, his alpha, rolled so he was closer to the bassist, making a small noise of protest when he didn't feel Sav's warmth where it ought to have been. Pale-green eyes opened, saw that Sav was bolt upright, and this prompted Joe to sit up as well.

"What is it, Sav?"

He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch. The mauled corpses of the Terror Twins were still fresh in his mind's eye—and his inner wolf was drooling. Finally he managed, "Have you ever had nightmares close to the full moon?"

Joe frowned slightly as he thought the question over. "When I was newly turned, yeah. Sav, the closer it is to the full moon, the easier it is for your lupine to take hold of you."

And tomorrow was the full moon . . . the Hunter's Moon . . .

He felt even more nauseous now than he had seconds before.

"What was your nightmare about, Sav?" Joe queried, both concern and ghoulish curiosity in his voice.

Sav was silent for a while. Finally he answered, "I killed Phil and Steve." His tone was matter-of-fact, like he wanted to distance the words from the emotions they conveyed. "I was in 'wolf form, and they were nothing more than food." He shuddered. "I actually _liked_ it."

"Sav." One of Joe's hands rested on his shoulder, and the beta leaned back into his alpha without realizing he was doing it. "Your 'wolf is not a killer because _you_ are not a killer. You're a wereling, remember?"

That elicited a scoff from the bassist. "Some wereling I am if I can't control my 'wolf. How come you're able to control yours when you change?"

"My anchor," Joe said simply.

Sav's blue eyes narrowed. "Which is what, exactly?"

"For me, it's you. I guess it has been ever since I met you."

Sav blinked. He wasn't exactly sure why that came as such a surprise, especially since he was now a beta werewolf himself and mated to the alpha of their strange pack, no less. Even before he'd been accidentally turned, Joe had made it quite clear that his 'wolf wanted Sav—both sexually and as a lupine. (As Joe had explained it to him, when the wolf picked its mate, the human side was unable to resist. It had scared both of them—especially Joe, because he'd been straight for so long.)

"That didn't exactly answer my question, Joe."

"Sorry. An anchor keeps me grounded when I'm 'wolf. Since you're a wereling, I have no idea if you need one or not."

"What are we going to do about tomorrow?"

"Lock ourselves in the basement, I guess," Joe said with a shrug. "Now go to sleep."

With that, he promptly fell back on his pillow and was out cold. Sav sighed before doing the same.

This time, no dreams disturbed him.

.

Joe snapped awake when something cold and wet hit him in the face. He gasped and coughed, shook his head to get the cold drops of water out of his eyes and hair, and a growl escaped when he saw the retreating forms of Phil and Steve.

"I'm gonna _kill_ you!" he yelled, leaping out of bed and sprinting after the Terror Twins. Sav was right on his heels.

_Well, this is an odd way to start the day,_ Sav commented in thought-speak.

Joe sent a growl into the beta's head. _Shut up and run. Do you want to catch them or not?_

Sav's mental response was an evil-sounding, _Let's do it._

"You're going to have to catch us first!" Phil called over his shoulder, replying to Joe's dire prediction issued thirty seconds earlier.

"And when we do," Joe shot back, "you'll be dead!" When he was close enough, he leaped, taking Phil down easily. Steve, too, landed heavily on the floor with Sav on top of him. Instantly a wrestling match ensued with Phil and Steve trying to escape from Joe and Sav's clutches, respectively, and the two lycanthropes refusing to give way.

The doors to Rick Allen and Peter Mensch's rooms opened as both men stuck their heads out to see what all the commotion was about. Rick shouted, "Oi! Keep it down out there; some of us are trying to sleep, y'know." Then he saw his bandmates going at it and rolled his eyes before walking out into the hallway dressed in boxer shorts and a T-shirt. Peter was in the hallway as well, muttering, "You've got to be kidding me." Both drummer and producer strode into the fray, working to separate the four men. Joe and Sav, snarling, landed on one side of the hallway. Phil and Steve were opposite them, and Rick and Peter were standing in the middle.

"All right," Mensch snapped, staring the four Leppards down, "I don't suppose you want to tell me what all _that_ was about."

Joe nodded in the Terror Twins' direction. "They started it."

"I don't care who started it, I'm ending it." Peter rolled his eyes, cussed good-naturedly under his breath. "I swear, I'm dealing with a bunch of teenagers!"

All five Lepps exchanged glances. Steve wondered, "Was that a compliment?"

"No!" Their manager seemed to notice their state of dress for the first time. "For God's sake, put on some decent clothes. No one wants to see you half-naked this early in the day."

The Lepps could easily think of several people who would, but they wisely decided not to point that out. Instead, they all retired to their respective rooms, emerging minutes later dressed in jeans, socks, and long-sleeve shirts.

Sav sniffed at the air. "Hey, d' you smell that?"

Joe scented the air as well. "Yeah. Food."

There was a mad rush with all of them scrambling over each other, trying to reach the kitchen first. To almost no one's surprise, Sav and Joe were the first to lay eyes on the breakfast spread laid out before them. Mouths watering, the two 'wolves dove in, piling their plates with fried eggs, bangers, toast, waffles, bacon . . . Their inner wolves were already licking their chops and drooling.

"You guys do know you have to perform tonight, right?" Peter Mensch said.

Both Sav and Joe tensed, their shared panic washing across their empathy link. Breakfast lay forgotten. The singer said, "Pete, Sav and I—"

"Let me guess," the manager said, voice dripping sarcasm. "You're sick."

_What're we gonna do?_ Sav asked Joe telepathically. _We can't exactly tell them it's a Change Night._

_Let me handle it,_ Joe replied.

Sav growled quietly under his breath, but said nothing. Joe met Peter's gaze and started, "Yeah, actually, a bit."

"Any idea what it is?"

_Yeah. Lycanthropy._ Joe didn't say that out loud; he just nodded.

"Is it contagious?"

_Only if one of us bites you when in lupine form._ Again, Joe nodded.

Mensch's face softened, then hardened. "Sorry, but you're still playing."

Sav swore harshly. The others stared at him, Joe included. Phil said, "Wow, Sav, I don't think I've ever seen you _not_ want to play."

The bassist flashed him a moody glare. "This is different." Wereling or not, he wasn't sure if he could control his wolf while onstage surrounded by potential prey on a Change Night. Joe had had issues last month and he'd been lupine far longer than Sav.

Much to the two lycanthropes' relief, the rest of the band dropped the issue and returned to the serious business of eating. When they were finished, it was on to the arena for rehearsals and a sound check.

.

Hours later, the band had taken their places onstage. Even though they couldn't see the full moon, Sav and Joe could sense its path as it climbed higher in the sky.

They were maybe halfway through their set list, and so far neither of their wolves had tried to make an appearance. Though he was feeling antsy and slightly feverish, Sav was glad that his 'wolf was staying back deep in the shadows of his mind.

Once they'd finished "Animal"—now Sav noticed the irony—Joe said to the crowed, "This next song is one of our B-sides, a track we've had lying around. I think it was on 'Armageddon It.' Here's a little 'Ring of Fire' for ya."

Sav, Steve, Phil, and Rick instantly launched into the intro after a few seconds of trying to remember how the song went. Joe was already bouncing around like popcorn—as usual—but his 'wolf needed the movement.

_"Thunder, you're tempting me  
A feast of spice in the night is what I need  
Oh, I'm a-ready to roar  
And I'm a-ready for more  
I'm a-ready to burn like the light into the dawn_

_Oh I gotta see the fire in me turning into ecstasy_  
_So stick around and settle down, enjoy the mystery_  
_A voice in the wilderness, there's something in the air_  
_A hidden love, forbidden pleasure, suffer secret pain_

_Thunder—Are you ready, ready for thunder?_  
_Feels like fire—Are you ready, ready for thunder?_  
_Ring of fire"_

There was definitely irony in this song as well. To Joe more so than Sav, it could easily describe the delicious pain of the transformation.

At that thought, Joe could feel his 'wolf stirring. He inhaled deeply, partly for the next verse and partly so he could subdue the lupine, and focused on his anchor. The heat in his skin cooled, and his lips twitched in a smile. _Ring of fire indeed._

_"Heartless, so indiscreet_  
_And you're stealin' up from behind, a raging heat . . ."_

Either he had joined Sav on that verse or Sav had moved closer to him. It didn't really matter as he threw his free arm over Sav's shoulder—and Sav briefly stopped playing to rest Joe's hand on his chest. The feel of skin underneath the rough pads of his fingertips excited him, had his wolf howling, but Joe managed to wrestle both back under control. He thought dryly, _Talk about a raging heat._

_". . . Oh I gotta see the fire in me turning into ecstasy_  
_So stick around and settle down, enjoy the mystery_  
_A voice in the wilderness, there's something in the air_  
_A hidden love, forbidden pleasure, suffer secret pain"_

The others joined in on backing vocals for the chorus, and Joe reluctantly let go of Sav to mingle with other bandmates.

_"Thunder—Are you ready, ready for thunder?  
Feels like fire—Are you ready, ready for thunder?  
Ring of fire—Are you ready, ready for thunder?  
Oh, feels like fire—Are you ready, ready for thunder?  
Ring of fire . . ."_

When they finally finished "Ring of Fire" there was a moment of silence before hoarse cries echoed through the stadium. The band members exchanged relieved, weary smiles before starting the next song in their set.

.

They didn't make it back until it was nearly ten-thirty at night. By then Joe and Sav were so restless and cagey that whenever a concerned bandmate asked what was wrong, the two men in question nearly bit their heads off—figuratively speaking.

Alpha and beta practically sprinted down the stairs into the basement, Joe pausing briefly to close and lock the door.

"You don't really think that'll hold us, do you?" Sav asked dubiously.

Joe shrugged. "The way I see it, we'll be too occupied with each other to try escaping." At Sav's grimace he added, "Not in that way! Is your mind always in the gutter?"

Sav flashed a toothy grin. "I learned from you, remember?"

"Fair enough," Joe conceded after a few second's thought.

There was silence. Finally, Sav broke it by saying, "Now what?"

"We wait," the singer replied simply, "unless you have a better idea to pass the time."

Instantly he was sorry that those words had ever left his mouth, since Sav smirked and flashed bedroom eyes.

"I didn't mean that, Sav!"

"'Course you didn't," his beta grumbled, already starting to peel off his shirt. At Joe's raised-eyebrow look, Sav defended himself, "What? I like this shirt and it's going to get ruined when I shift." That being said, he stripped down to his undergarments and sat down, resting his back and head against the nearest concrete wall.

Joe sighed before joining the bassist. It was going to be a very long ninety minutes.

.

The first stab of pain had him opening his green eyes. Joe wondered when he'd closed them, but the thought was soon gone from his mind as he welcomed the transformation. In many ways, he preferred his 'wolf form to his human one: the raw power, enhanced senses, his speed and agility. And as far as howling went, well, what was singing?

A low whine reminded him that Sav was here as well. He asked, _Sav, are you okay?_

The brown-pelted wereling's thought-speak voice was a little shaky: _Yeah, I think so. At least, my 'wolf isn't completely overwhelming._

_Looks like I was right: You don't need an anchor. Hey, wereling, perfect synthesis of man and wolf._

Sav bared his fangs in a half-hearted attempt at a snarl. _Shut up._

Joe lightly nipped at Sav's muzzle. _Is that how you address every alpha you meet,_ beta?

The wereling snorted and brushed past the blonde werewolf. _Leave me alone, Joe._

_Sorry, I can't really do that, seeing as we locked ourselves in here._ Joe padded after the bassist.

Sav growled and whirled around, teeth snapping on empty air. _Did you think I really_ wanted _this? I've seen you during a full moon before, Joe, and it's scary as hell. Sorry, but I don't want to turn into that._

Joe barked in frustration. _How many times do I have to explain to you that it's not like that for you? You're not like the rest of us, Sav. Can't you get that through your thick skull?_

Sav's muscles tensed. That was all the warning Joe had before the wereling leapt, blue eyes blazing.

Joe sidestepped easily and pounced, burying his fangs in Sav's shoulder. Sav yelped, snarled, and lashed out with a forepaw, raking his claws along Joe's flank. The two sprang apart, sides heaving, and stared each other down, Joe's head and tail held high. Sav lowered his gaze in submission, started to tuck his tail between his hind legs.

_Have you got that out of your system?_ Joe's mental voice was snide, but he didn't care.

_Yep,_ Sav replied, trying to twist his head around to lick the wound on his shoulder. _How come it's not healing?_

_Wounds from another lupine take a tad longer to heal._

Sav stopped licking and snapped his head in Joe's direction. _Is there anything else you haven't told me?_

_Well, we're not immortal but we do live to be a few hundred years old or so and stop physically aging around age thirty or so._

_Blimey._ Sav turned in circles a few times before lying down curled up in a ball. He rested his forepaws on top of his nose, his tail-tip lying on top of his paws. _Please tell me you're joking._

_Would I joke about something like this?_ Joe curled up next to Sav, laid his head on the bassist's flank. Then he lifted his head and rasped his tongue over Sav's right ear.

Sav sighed, and his ear twitched. _No. What's up with the whole circling-before-lying-down thing?_

_It's instinct,_ Joe said, amusement in his voice. _Is that all that's bothering you?_

_No, no it's not,_ Sav replied softly.

_You want to talk about it?_

_Not really. _There was silence for a while; then Sav said, _Do you think the others heard us fighting earlier?_

_I doubt it. They're probably out cold._

_And if they ever saw us in 'wolf form?_

_Simple: We say they were hallucinating. Or we can get Jon to wipe their minds again._

A shiver ran through the brown lupine. _Please don't. He makes me nervous._

Joe started to ask why before he remembered his own 'wolf's reaction to the energy vampire. _Yeah, me too. Then again, any other supernatural creatures make my 'wolf edgy._

_Mmm. Remember that night at the GhostWalk in Pueblo?_

Joe stopped grooming Sav and grinned a wolf grin. _Yeah. That was fun. Phil was absolutely terrified—and we managed to make him think it was just a dream._

_Still . . ._

_Hey, it was Halloween. It's not like he thought we really are werewolves. Is that all, because I'm tired and really want to sleep._

Sav considered it. _I'm good._

_Good. Now shut up and go to sleep._

As Joe closed his eyes and drifted off, he thought he heard Sav whisper, _Love you._

_Love you too._


	14. Heat in the Night

**Seven:**

**"Heat in the Night"**

* * *

**Summary: **"Well, if _you'd _let _me _sleep, I would be off in La-La Land by now and you would probably be at least dozing. What do you want me to do, suck you off or what?" He looked to the left, saw Sav was fighting back a smile.

"It didn't cross my mind, but if you're offering . . ."

Or: Sav can't sleep. Joe decides to help.

**Notes: **The title for this one comes from a line in "I Wanna Be Your Hero" off the _Retro Active _album. This is also partly inspired by DKD's Def Leppard fic "Gravity" over on Rockfic.

* * *

"Joe." The familiar voice hissed through the darkness again: "Oi! Joe!"

A low growl of protest rumbled in the alpha's chest, but he cracked one eye open anyway. "_What_, Sav?" he snarled.

"I can't sleep," was the beta's response.

Joe groaned and rolled over, covering his ears with his pillow. "Well, try. It's not that difficult."

"I've tried," Sav said flatly. "I just can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes . . ." His voice trailed off; through the pack-bond they shared, Joe could sense unease, horror, and disgust coming from Sav. The singer waited in silence, not wanting to push at the mental link. (Since he was alpha, he knew where Sav was at any moment in time, felt the beta's emotions, and could even communicate telepathically with him when they weren't in lupine form. He couldn't read minds, though, not really. With 'wolves who weren't pack, he head to be in his other form in order to communicate in thought-speak.) There was no immediate answer from Sav.

"What, Sav?" Joe finally asked in a quiet voice. "What do you see?"

"Nothing," the bassist answered quickly. "It's nothing. Forget it."

Joe was definitely cross by now. "You woke me up because you were having nightmares, and then won't tell me what they are?" He snorted derisively. "That's brilliant, just bloody brilliant. And now I can't sleep either, you dolt! All you've done is woken me up, too!"

"Sorry."

Sav sure didn't sound sorry.

Joe snarled in irritation and closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep.

One green eye finally snapped open. "To 'ell with it." He rolled so he was facing Sav's bunk and propped himself up on one elbow. Thanks to his enhanced night vision—his senses remained heightened though he wasn't in his werewolf form—he could clearly see Sav's familiar shape stretched out in the narrow bed across the bus aisle. The beta 'wolf was resting on his left side facing Joe; and the alpha could have sworn Sav was smiling just a tiny bit, as if he was laughing at him.

"What?" Sav asked. Yeah, he was definitely smiling in an amused fashion. And the question, said in an innocent tone, had failed to sound that way.

"Because now I'm not going to fall asleep until you tell me what's going on with you."

"Since when are you a shrink, Joe?" The amusement in Sav's voice was palpable.

Joe's response to that was a warning snarl and bared fangs. "Since never, and thank God for that. But I _do _have to look out for my packmates."

"Yeah, yeah," Sav grumbled. "You're the alpha and all that."

"Yep." Joe smiled in spite of himself. "Don't you forget it."

"How can I?" Sav shot back. "You remind me, oh, only every other day."

"I do not!"

"Okay, maybe it's more like one a week," Sav amended. "And my 'wolf doesn't let me forget you're the pack leader either." He paused. "Have you ever thought about how weird our lives are sometimes? I mean, until two months ago, I would never have been talking about myself in wolf terms. With you, it wouldn't have been until five years ago. And we're in a popular rock band, for crying out loud!"

"I've never really thought about it," Joe admitted. "Whenever I do, I get vertigo. So yeah, it's odd, but I'm used to it."

A barely-contained snort came from the bassist. "_Odd _is a bit of an understatement, Joe."

"Eh." Joe shrugged his left shoulder. "If you say so, wereling."

"Will you quit—" Sav stopped mid-sentence and exhaled through his nose. "You're never going to stop calling me that, so forget I even started."

"'Kay. But it _is _what you are, Sav."

"Yeah, half-human half-werewolf. Lucky me," the bassist said sarcastically.

"Hey, at least we don't turn into lions or tigers or—"

"Bears, oh my," Sav interrupted with an amused grin.

Joe's green eyes flared turquoise as he glared at Sav. "_Never _quote _The Wizard of Oz_ again, Sav. It's just scary. And for the record, I was going to say leopards."

"That would be ironic, that would," Sav admitted. "The big cats aren't all that friendly, though, are they?"

"If we ever go to Africa, I guess we'll find out. Lions live in prides, though," Joe amended.

Sav smirked and began singing a Toto song. "_It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do. I bless the rains down in __Africa__—"_

"Oh, shut up," Joe snapped, grabbing his pillow and throwing it across the narrow aisle into Sav's bunk. It hit Sav square in the face, and the alpha growled in satisfaction. The beta batted the pillow down into his lap and glared at the singer. "Really, Joe?"

"Hey, it worked," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah, but now you don't have a pillow," Sav pointed out.

Why hadn't he thought of that earlier? This time his growl was one of anger. "I hate it when you're right.' His vision turned scarlet as his 'wolf's enhanced eyesight took over, taking in details he would miss as a human, and saw the amused look on Sav's face. The bassist said, "No you don't."

A barely-contained snarl came from the singer; Sav said hastily, "Okay, maybe you do. But not me. No one could ever hate me."

"You're just that irresistible," Joe said sarcastically.

"Yep," Sav said brightly. "And besides, you lo-o-ove me."

Joe sat straight up, swung his legs over the side of the bunk bed, and eyed the bassist strangely. "Sav, are you high or something?" His vision was still wolfed out, but he couldn't see any signs of drug or alcohol use. He couldn't smell anything either, other than the normal smells of the bus—currently immobile, as they'd stopped so the drivers could cop their zz's for a couple hours—and himself and Sav—his beta, best friend, and mate. How strange that up until a couple of months ago, he hadn't even considered the fact that his feelings for the bass guitarist were anything other than brotherly, friendly. Now, of course, they _were _brothers, in a sense. 'Wolf was 'wolf, and the ties were incredibly strong. The lupine community stretched around the world, and there were werewolf packs in practically all fifty states of America, save maybe Hawaii. There were quite a few packs back in England and Europe in general, but since their job kept them busy and in different cities all over the world, it was hard to keep in touch with local packs or the lupine community as a whole.

"No," Sav said. "I just can't sleep, and you know I get loopy when I can't sleep."

"Which brings me back to my original question: _Why _can't you sleep?" If Sav didn't give him a straight answer, Joe would just keep picking at it like a dog with a bone. (Or, in their case, a wolf with a bone.) Joe knew it, Sav knew it, heck, the entire _band _knew it.

"I already told you," Sav said, the easy amusement vanishing from his voice. "Nightmares."

"About what?" Joe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes had returned to their normal shade of green, which was a relief for Sav. Even though he'd known Joe's secret for years, it was still a little disconcerting whenever his eyes, teeth, or nails would shift, revealing flashes of the wild animal that lurked within. Sav himself had only been a 'wolf for a little over two months, and even by werewolf standards he was different. Okay, yes, there were times he wondered how he'd stood being a human for so long when he now had all the speed, senses, and skills of a werewolf, but most of the time he _hated _his dual animalistic nature. Joe had said that he would grow to love being a werewolf. So far? Sav wasn't lovin' it. Yeah he was half-human, half-werewolf and able to control the 'wolf's instincts when in the lupine state, unlike Joe. When he transformed the singer had to have something to anchor his human side, or else his 'wolf was in full control. Whenever that happened, Sav was usually the one Joe ended up attacking—even before he'd accidentally bitten the wereling. So 'wolves weren't exactly Sav's favorite people.

"Sav," Joe's voice broke into his thoughts, "what are your nightmares about?"

"Werewolves skulking around Frankenstein's castle," he deadpanned.

Luckily, it had the desired effect: Joe stared at him before releasing a bark of laugher. Then the singer sobered up and said, "No, seriously. And don't even think about lying to me."

When Joe used that tone—the tone Sav associated with his 'wolf, or his position as pack leader—Sav and his own 'wolf had no choice but to obey their alpha. And right then, the bassist slightly resented the fact that the singer had so much authority over him and wasn't afraid to wield it. So he had authority issues, apparently. Well, not with their managers or producer per se, but as far as their record company went . . . There were definitely a few people there he'd like to kill. His thoughts were running away with him again, so he reined them in and decided to give Joe a straight answer.

"There _are _'wolves involved, Joe, and that's all I'm telling ya."

Joe's pale-green eyes narrowed. "You have to give me more than that."

"I thought you said you weren't a shrink."

"I'm not, but— Oh, don't start that again!"

Sav couldn't resist pointing out that the singer was the one who had started the shrink angle up again. Joe growled wordlessly and snapped, "At least give me back my pillow."

The bassist pretended to think it over, then said, "Nah. It's your pillow, so you can come and get it."

"Sav . . ." Joe's voice had gone dark with warning. "You _know_ what I'm like when I don't get a lot of sleep: I wake up in a bad mood. And no one wants to deal with that. So hand. Over. The pillow."

Even though Joe's tone of voice made it clear he was struggling to keep control over his 'wolf, Sav couldn't help needling him some more: "You know, it's not that far. You could just come over here and grab it."

Joe was leaning over him before Sav could even blink—he could move that fast. The singer's hands were reaching for the pillow when the bus jolted and began moving, sending Joe toppling onto the bassist. A surprised "Oof!" came from Joe's lungs, while Sav hissed in pain.

"Jesus, Joe, have you ever considered losing a bit of weight?"

"Hey, that's all muscle, that is."

"Still. How about you try this: Get—off."

"Do you really want me to?"

_Ye— No. _"Yes!"

Joe merely changed his position, Sav growling and wincing as the other 'wolf squashed even more parts of his anatomy. Now Joe's face was inches from Sav's, though Joe went rolling off the bassist when the bus turned sharply. Luckily, he landed in what little space there was left in Sav's bunk.

"That better?" the blond singer asked.

"No, you idiot! What were you trying to do—squeeze me to death?"

Joe scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course not."

"Well, that bloody hurt!"

"Wimp."

"Would you rather it be you instead of me?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought," Sav said smugly.

Joe didn't say anything for a while. "I just wanted to sleep," he murmured, half to himself. So far, it didn't look like he was going to earn much in that department.

"Yeah, well, I still can't sleep." That was Sav, of course.

"Well, if _you'd _let _me _sleep, I would be off in La-LaLand by now and you would probably be at least dozing. What do you want me to do, suck you off or what?" He looked to the left, saw Sav was fighting back a smile.

"It didn't cross my mind, but if you're offering . . ." The amusement in Sav's voice made it clear he was trying hard not to laugh.

Joe scowled and flipped him off, trying to ignore the fact that his 'wolf wanted him to do just as he'd suggested. He just wanted to _sleep_. . . . Unfortunately, now that the image of a naked Rick Savage writhing underneath him was in his head, Joe knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Besides, his 'wolf was battling with his human side for control—and focusing on Sav to calm down wouldn't work, since it had its sights on the beta, his mate (in more ways than one).

"All right, then," he said matter-of-factly, sitting up enough to slip off the old T-shirt he was using as a sleep shirt.

"Wh— What?" Sav choked out.

Joe looked over at him, green eyes darkening to the shade Sav associated with the bedroom. "You _did _say that if I was offering . . ." He shrugged. "I'm offering. Besides, I'm not sure if I can restrain my 'wolf for much longer." As he spoke, his hands were running lightly up Sav's body, starting at the navel and ending on his pectorals. "So smooth," he commented in an absent-minded way, the pads of his fingers massaging Sav's pecs in tiny circles. "Do you shave?"

Sav's breathing, which had hitched and started to go ragged, stopped altogether. "I think you know the answer to that, Joe."

Joe's tongue flicked out, wet his lips, and Sav's deep blue eyes followed the action. "Yeah, I guess I do." His fingertips grazed Sav's nipples, twisted, and the bass player's breath was drawn in a hiss.

"Why do you insist on doing that?"

"Because you seem to like it," Joe answered simply, shifting his body so he was hovering partly over and above Sav.

"Ah. Well, could you—" Sav broke off when Joe ducked his head, licked the underside of his jaw, then went up, trailing his lips along Sav's jawline. Then his mouth met Sav's, and the beta's mind was gone—because, _damn_, Joe was a brilliant kisser. One of Joe's hands was tangled in Sav's bushy brown hair while the other was exploring the beta 'wolf's lean frame.

A low moan escaped Sav when Joe's free hand slipped into the waistband of his sweats, fondled him. "God, Joe." His hips jerked up into his lover's hand; and the blonde pulled back from the kiss, a pleased rumble coming from deep in his chest. As he continued to stroke Sav; ran his thumb over the moistened slit; felt those lean, tight muscles quiver with need; Joe thought, _He's so beautiful like this._

_Yes. Mine, _his 'wolf agreed.

_Is that all you can say?_

_No._

Great, now his 'wolf had a sense of humor. Sheesh. The things he had to put up with when living with a band and his own personal demon . . . If he ever _did _have to talk to a psychiatrist, he would probably be forced to wear a straitjacket and be locked inside a rubber room.

Joe told himself to keep his mind on the bigger plan, slid the sweatpants off Sav's hips down to his ankles—deft leg movements by Sav had them completely off—and pressed his lips to Sav's inner thigh. Sav hissed out a dirty word and tightened his hold on Joe's mass of blonde hair. His claws pricked Joe's scalp, then sheathed themselves once Sav realized that he'd momentarily lost control. Joe didn't mind it, not really. He let his mouth roam at will, relaxed his human mind and allowed the 'wolf to take over because he didn't want to think about this too closely. His human half never did, and besides, he was enjoying himself. This wasn't entirely one-sided: the fact he was making Sav moan and shiver under his touch was making his own desire high, his own blood run hot.

His green eyes flicked up, met Sav's frazzled blue ones. A smirk tugged at his mouth as he moved higher, nuzzling into the musky heat in between Sav's legs.

"Joe . . ." There was an underlying urgency in Sav's voice now. "I don't want that, Joe, c'mon . . ." His hands were at Joe's hips, pushing down the singer's boxers. A few lines from Foreigner's "Urgent" played in the singer's head: _You got fire in your veins, burning hot, but you don't feel the pain. Your desire is insane. You can't stop until you do it again. . . .But I know, yes I know, how to treat you right. That's why you call me in the middle of the night. You say it's urgent, so urgent. Just you wait and see how urgent our love can be . . . _Then it switched to "Animal": _I got to feel it in my blood, whoa oh. I need your touch, don't need your love, whoa oh. And I want, and I need, and I lust, animal. . . . Take me, tame me, make me your animal. Show me, stroke me, let me be your animal._

Joe moved higher, licking, nipping, and kissing his way up Sav's body, finally reclaiming the beta's mouth. The bassist's soft cry was swallowed as Joe slid a slick finger into him and began exploring the new territory.

"Bloody hell, Joe," Sav growled, eyes flickering from his normal shade to turquoise and back again. His back arched, hips bucked, his breath coming in short pants. His fingertips dug into the skin on Joe's back before sliding down to cop a feel of that delicious-looking arse. Joe grunted, and Sav smiled with the realization that the singer liked having his arse grabbed. That preference had been entered, saved, stored, and locked away for future reference.

Celebration time was over when Joe curled the finger inside him, ad Sav almost howled with pleasure. He was so close to coming he wanted to die—but he couldn't, not yet, it was too soon.

Joe suddenly yelped with pain and pulled back. "'Ey, Sav, watch where you stick your claws, will ya?"

"Quiet!" Sav hissed. "D'you want our driver coming back to investigate?"

"Not really."

"Good. I don't either, so how about you put that big mouth of yours to use, eh?"

Joe's green eyes went lupine-blue. "Say that again," he murmured low, ducking his head so his now-turquoise eyes had to glare up at Sav. The look was somewhat startling, and both the newblood and his 'wolf shrank back. Eye contact in this case meant a challenge—and he didn't want that. A nearly inaudible whimper came from his throat, and Sav hated himself for it, for the fact that Joe could reduce him to _this_. So could the full moon—but that wasn't the point.

"Sav," Joe finally said in a conversational tone.

"Y-yeah?"

"Do the world a favor and turn your mind off."

"I—"

That was all Sav got out before Joe was kissing him again—with tongue this time—and his hand was curled around the hard length of him. Sav nearly lost it right there. "Stop—teasing—me," he ground out when they broke apart for air.

Joe's head tilted at a curious angle, his facial features more 'wolf than human now, before it returned to its original position. "You're sure? We don't have—"

Sav was having none of it; before Joe knew quite what was happening he was surrounded by tight heat and groaning with pleasure. This wasn't any different from being with a female, really, though something inside him—maybe his 'wolf—recoiled at the thought. The wolf inside Joe growled, _Mate. Mine._

_I know, now shut up, wolf._

His lupine quieted, but Joe sensed it wasn't happy about it. He didn't care; he had more important things on his mind at the moment—like making sure he wasn't hurting Sav. His hips began to move, gradually picking up a faster rhythm, urging them over, again and again. Harder, harder, and the alpha werewolf had to bite back a howl as his release crashed through him.

His head rested on Sav's chest, rising and falling with his beta's heavy breathing. Then: "Joe?"

"Hhmm?" Green eyes met blue ones as the pack leader lightly raised his head.

"What was it you were singing that one morning back in Vail? In the shower?" There was a slightly-amused smirk on Sav's face. "Oh, yeah, I remember now: _The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's licking his lips, he's ready to win on the hunt tonight for love at first sting. Here I am, rock you like a hurricane—"_

Joe's low growl silenced him—but not for long.

"Y'know, that whole intimidation tactic is getting a bit old."

The singer's smile was all fangs as he ran a finger down Sav's stomach, ending just above a certain spot, then began teasing the most sensitive part of his anatomy. Sav whimpered and fell silent.

_At last! I didn't think it was possible, but I've found a way to keep Rick Savage silent. _He blinked. _Wow, I think that's the first time any of us has ever said that. Normally I'm the one who needs shutting up._

"Got that right," Sav muttered, trying to roll over so he didn't have to look at Joe. "Now go to sleep, yeah?"

Joe glared before he cuffed the back of Sav's head. "What d'you think I was trying to do this whole time?"

"Sleep?"

"Well, actually, more like trying to shut you up so I could, yeah, but that's not the point. And _why _won't you sleep already?"

Sav didn't answer. After a moment of listening, Joe figured out the reason why: He was already out cold, breathing deep and regular. The singer shook his head in amused exasperation and crawled out, heading toward his own bunk. As he lay trying to sleep, snatches of lyrics danced in his mind: _I wanna be your hero, I'll be your heat in the night. I wanna be your hero, I'll be a trick of the light. Hold tight, 'cuz I like what I see. You excite, you put your finger on me. You're not too shy, you put a sting on my tail. . . . _Then, finally, even those faded as sleep claimed him.


End file.
